Metamorphosis
by Ink Ribbon
Summary: (Noun)A striking alteration in appearance, character, or circumstances... [Rewrite for the Season 5b with a surviving Beth. Sequel to my story Coda.]
1. Chapter 1

Metamorphosis

_(Noun) a striking alteration in appearance, character, or circumstances_

DARYL

PART ONE

I.

_Horseshit_

Sure as fuck, he felt like an idiot, like his old man used to say, the stupidest Dixon had ever lived. _I don't know, man. This barn smells like horseshit._

But the barn _really_ smelled like horseshit. Each day since Grady also felt like horseshit. Not that he let himself to feel much of anything. That was the red zone he was damn aware of, so he kept his head ahead and focused on what mattered the most.

_We ain't dead…_

And it was really fucking bloody damn ridiculous how many times he'd uttered out loud those words in the last few days.

_We ain't dead…_

_We ain't them…_

_We ain't ashes…_

Carol. A twinge seized his heart and he tired to push it away. It was how it'd been all along since Grady. Anger and relief mixing at each other, and the sharp feel of loss and missing, adding up with the hellish journey to somewhere no one possibly knew as he couldn't decide what to feel. It was both relief and anger at the same time, relief of finding her still alive, and anger of losing someone else instead, someone close, someone mattered, but most of all it was guilt. If he hadn't let Beth be taken away, none of this would've happened. Carol wouldn't have died, Beth wouldn't have wandered around like a ghost, caressing her wrist unconsciously, yeah, he'd noticed. Daryl Dixon didn't miss those kinds of shit easily.

But he couldn't change the past, and what happened, happened, so he did his best damn sure to keep up ahead…doing his shit; _find water, find food, we gotta live…_He didn't know if anyone bought it, but no one called him out on it, no one—except Beth. _I don't believe that. I know how much you care._

Of course, he did. He wouldn't have come back to Atlanta to save her little pretty ass to begin with if he didn't. Correction, everything was a shitty mess since the prison had fallen, one crap piling up onto another. When he'd seen the car with the white cross by sheer luck, he'd thought his luck finally had turned in, and perhaps—just perhaps they would be just okay.

How was that song she'd sung to him while he was resting in a coffin…? _and we'll lay in the lawn, and we'll be good._

So much for happy endings. Sometimes he wondered what would've happened if he hadn't pulled down Beth at the last minute, clearing the bullet's way to Carol. He imagined her lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood, just out of his reach, in Carol's stead. Each time he thought about it, it sickened him down to his empty stomach and…but was there also relief…? He didn't know, he was afraid to look closer—_I ain't afraid of nothing—_sounded to his ears like bullshit.

So he pressed it all down, because what else was there to do? Carol was dead, and she knew the risks and truth be told, maybe—maybe, it was really better this way. There were worse things than being dead, Daryl understood now better. He'd been so relieved, so happy when he found Carol after Terminus, seeing her again—that hug as he let himself go—but afterwards, seeing how she had been, he didn't know.

Perhaps it was really the best, so he told himself. Was he still angry though? Hell yeah. If he knew, before Beth had even started walking back to Dawn, he woulda slapped her down, pulled her at his side, screamed at her let it go, stayed at his side, but he didn't know a shit. He didn't get it.

_I get it._

He shut down a shudder, coming up –not the first time—all the plausible scenarios that woulda made a girl like Beth Greene to "get it", the bruises and stiches over her face and that look in her eyes... God, he really wished he hadn't gunned down that bitch, just so he could kill her again.

They'd broken her, the girl he'd come to admire a bit. It wasn't just the sweetness or the easy way she had with people, the way that left you utterly and completely defenseless nor the way she called out on your bullshit or the way she wasn't shy of dramatic fits, all those stupid, shitty things that made you feel like young again. A sudden hotness crept over on him as he remembered how suddenly she kissed him, her hands quickly finding their ways to his belt… _I"ve never had sex before, not really._

And they must've really broken her, down to the last shred if she thought of getting up with him like that as a legitimate option, because the girls like Beth Greene never got up with the likes of him, not even in the apocalypse. The notion had angered him, Dixons weren't nobody's bitch, but it also pained him. She wasn't supposed to be like this, they hadn't lost Carol for _this_. And guilt was even heavier on him, like it stuck on all over him, and a little sneering voice inside him telling—_you caused this_… So he yanked her on her feet, and snapped at her— _we ain't dead, not yet._

'Cause fuck him good if he let those sonabitches win.

When she finally let go and cried in his arms, he allowed himself let go a bit, too, and thought maybe—perhaps—they would be okay again. _Places like this, you gotta put them away._

They all gotta put them away—he knew… and now _this_…

They'd caught the man at the slope this morning, after Beth's muffled cries finally subdued and she broke out of his embrace, a bit embarrassed but ruefully smiling, music box stopping as a sudden silence stretching between them, awkward, and he'd found himself wondering if she'd kiss him again… or would he?

And fuck! He wouldn't think of that, would he? He sure as hell wouldn't think kissing Beth Greene. Because it was so wrong on so many levels if he started a list he coulda never finished it.

This goddamn barn really smelled like horseshit.

"Are we really gonna do this?" Beth asked, approaching him where he sat on a heightened bench in the barn, a suspicious look in her eyes.

He gave her a look. "Have better ideas?" he roughed out, and reminded her, "You ain't opposed." When Rick had finished his talk, none of them had opposed.

She shrugged off, but it wasn't an eased one. It was tense, not knowing, and he could hardly blame her for it. "We gotta move on, find a place. We can't keep on goin' like this."

"Yeah—" she muttered, nodding. "It just—sounds too good, right?"

He nodded back, "Yeah—" he agreed, but she wasn't the only one who thought like this. The wariness was high and clear in everyone's eyes, they couldn't trust anyone after Terminus, but they hardly had any other choice. "Couldn't be worse than Terminus," he grunted out, standing up, taking his crossbow.

Beth frowned. "What really happened there?" she asked, "I—I don't exactly want to know—but—was it really bad?"

Daryl looked at her, weighing her up and down. Soon or later, Terminus and what had happened there would catch up on her, but fuck him if he be the one to break the news to her. "Yeah—" he only said, walking away. "Grab your shit. Rick says we leave in an hour."

* * *

_A/N: Just mentioning basic rules: Re-write for Season 5b, obviously a few changes will be made, as there is a surviving Beth, but no Carol and Noah, still will follow the canon's storyline. The part one follows closely Daryl, so you won't see much of other characters._


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Pristine

It was fucking ridiculous, and he kept his _dinner_ at his hand during the whole thing, pacing up and forth in the clustered room, recorded, all feeling like a fucking moron. In these days, the feeling had started to become customary.

This might be the first time he'd ever have a sit down interview, for which he wasn't sitting, of course, no way. No Dixon ever sat down in front of a camera and answered questions like a clown. After all, he'd a family reputation to maintain.

"Daryl, do you want to be here?" the old woman asked.

_Hell, no._ Alexandria, the ol' good white collar American dream, a life of sustainability, all pristine and clean, welcoming—neighbors waving smiling, barbecue parties, summer fairs, family picnics_…_ all the things he'd ever hated and yet secretly yearned for, not that he'd ever admit. _But you've already admitted it, boy,_ a snickering voice told him back in his mind, laughing, a snicker very close to Merle's. _We'd stick 'round for a while, see if we'd work it out._

All pristine and clean, the funeral home felt like Alexandria now, not as safe as the town was, sure, but the feeling was the same, not a ramshackle cabin in the woods full of moonshine, but a house clean and tidy, like how families were supposed to live.

He stopped in his tracks for a second, still holding his dead rodent, and shrugged, "The boy and the baby, they deserve a roof," he said, leaving the rest unsaid, because he didn't know the answer. He didn't know if he wanted to be in the town. Because with his dead possum in hand, it was clear as fuck he didn't belong here.

The old woman nodded, as if she understood, with a kind look in her eyes. He threw at her a glare, almost seething, but she smiled at him, a small but warm thing, almost earnest, and all knowing. He _hated_ it. "Let's talk about it later," she said, still smiling, "It's getting late. I'm sure you want to ready your dinner."

With a snarl and silent curse, Daryl left the room, deciding on his answer. No. This—this was gonna be even worse than Terminus.

Beth found him later in the evening while he gutted the dead animal on the porch's steps, getting pristine white wooden floor all dirty with blood and guts. "Hey—" she called him out, resting on the railings, standing over him where he sat on the last step, "I hope you don't get a fire in the house, too."

Without lifting his head, he grunted out nonchalantly, going on his business. Beth—Beth looked like she liked the place. It must have been her dream place too, like Rick had said; her own family, rising up her own child with her high school sweetheart. He could picture her readying dinner for children as her husband wrapped his hands around her waist behind her in the kitchen, kissing her neck as a welcome. The children—one boy and a small girl making a face at their parents, screaming 'gross', Beth chiding her husband playfully as the man smiled at her sheepishly.

_Perfect family._

It almost nauseated him, anger suddenly boiling in him again, closing in on him. He felt trapped and it wasn't nothing with the walls around them or the dead behind them. He lifted his head to snap at her, for no particular reason beyond that he was pissed off but her expression stopped him.

She was looking around, her neck titled up half, but it was her eyes that made the anger in him simmer down. She looked like the time they'd gotten their asses drunk on moonshine, wasted on booze, nostalgia and loss… _Birthdays, holidays, and summer picnics… that's how unbelievably stupid I was._

He'd told her it was how it was supposed to be, and it was—if the world hadn't turned upside down. Beth belonged to Alexandria, in a way he would never be. And the funeral home—as he could see now clearly was just a wistful thinking.

"Couldn't let it go to waste—" he mumbled out, turning back to gutting the dead animal, acutely aware of Beth's eye roll even without seeing it, and asked, "How went your interview?"

"Oh—" she made the sound aloof, and Daryl wondered if it was genuine, "Good, I guess. Asked me what I was doing before the turn, told her I was in high school." She paused for a second. Daryl lifted his eyes up at her, to see a slight frown setting over her brows, "She couldn't believe. Said I look much older now."

_No shit,_ he snickered inside, mumbled "we all do," outside.

"Yeah, I guess." She shrugged as he turned his eyes back to his work again, "So she asked what I did after the turn, well, I told her I was a nurse for the last, so she set me up with Dr. Anderson. Hey, if you get shot or anything, I'll patch you up," she added jokingly.

"Mm," he grunted out wordlessly, but felt a heaviness lifting off of his chest, hearing the joke. Jokes were good, jokes meant that you were moving on.

Then she sighed out. "I—still can't believe this," she slowly said. Daryl looked at her again. "It's—it's sorta mind-blogging, right?" A pause, then she continued, "I wish Dad would see. He'd like this place."

"Yeah—" Daryl agreed, nodding, bowing his head as he put the knife aside. "What did they give to you?" she asked, clutching the railings at the each side, her moment of melancholy passed. Beth had those quick moments, too, he'd noticed, mood swings between melancholy and gutsy, sometimes too imprudent, ending up burning shit up or kissing people on a whim. Not that he would ever judge anyone being on reckless or anything, hell, he even kinda liked that spirit in her.

"Ain't decided yet," he answered, picking up the knife, and started playing with it on the wooden board.

Beth narrowed her eyes. "You'll ruin it," she warned, "Not a good impression if you ruin the house at the first day."

He shrugged off as the tip of the blade made a dent in the wood. "Like I care."

Suddenly she was pissed off. "Maybe you should," she chided at him, "These people took us in."

"Because they need us."

The pissed look vanished off her features and she shook her head. "It's apocalypse, Daryl. Everyone needs each other." Her eyes found his. "After they took me away, I was worried about you. I didn't know for sure if they killed you and you know—you're not an easy man to kill—" she said, almost with a smile, "so if you're alive, then it means you must be alone."

She shuddered visibly, and Daryl understood what she left unsaid meant. Alone in a world belonged more to dead, beating up himself because he'd failed her, still trying to survive in the meanwhile. He remembered those days he'd spent with Joe and his circle of sociopath dickheads, and pressed down a shudder as well.

His hands on the knife's blade, he shook his head. "I wasn't alone. There was this group of shmucks. They found me on the crossroad." He shook his head, trying not to image how it woulda been if he'd met with Joe's group while he he'd been with Beth. The thought gave him another shiver, something he just couldn't shake off. "Sometimes it's really better to be alone," he said, tugging the knife again in the wood.

She sighed out. "I know." She sat down on the step below him, "I'm glad we found each other again." She paused for a second, "I never thanked you. For finding me," she clarified when he looked at her in question.

He brushed it off with a shrug, started feeling again awkward, and wondering where the hell that easy feeling between them had gone. He could hardly believe now it was the same girl he'd playfully swept off in his arms and carried to the lamest breakfast known to mankind. "'s nothing," he mumbled out, bowing his head again, eyes fixed at the knife as he started another dent.

"It _is_," she insisted, pressing further, "You were the only one—" she paused for a second, "You and Carol."

Carol's name was like a hit in the stomach. His hand stopped and he lifted his head up at her. "There was a car we found on the road that day," he started to retell, because it somehow felt appropriate, like she needed to know. "We decided to leave it there for emergencies. That night while I returned from the hunt, found Carol tinkering with it. I asked her what was she doing, she shrugged and told me some bullshit, but you know—she was leaving or was tryin'. Things between Rick and her—they were gettin' good but she still didn't feel it, I'unno. She told me she ain't gonna talk about what happened after the prison fell. I told her to come back with me and she was about to—then we saw the car," he made a gesture with his free hand, "one with a cross on the back. When I rushed to the car to follow it, she just—sorta—tagged along. I guess she ain't wanted me to go there alone—"

"But didn't believe I still might be alive?" Beth asked, sighing out.

Daryl shrugged again, not wanting to tell her the older woman didn't even want to look for her at the first place. Carol had told her the same thing he'd said, that she was trying, but Carol believed to find Beth still alive…? No. "Not until we found Noah," he answered truthfully.

Beth let out another sigh, this time deeper. "Seems like no one really believed I'd survive on my own."

He gave her a look, fixing it at her eyes, "I _did_."

-and watched a redness crept upon over her neck, rushing towards her cheeks, and it was all sorts of wrongs to find her beautiful just like that, setting sun casting soft shadows in the gloom around her, her ponytail falling over one shoulder, cheeks reddened, and—innocent.

So, naturally, he stood up and walked the fuck away.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

Beautiful

A new pair of jeans, a new sweater and a denim jacket, she'd gussied up pretty, like the rest of the group had done, except him. Her arms crossed over her chest, head held up high, she was looking down at him defiantly. From where he perched atop the railings of the porch, Daryl returned her look unabashedly. "You really need to get your shit together, Daryl," she chided, "Even Rick cut off that ugly beard."

He shrugged off with ease. "Ain't gonna happen."

"You didn't even take a shower!" Beth fumed out.

He shrugged again. "Ain't gonna socialize with these people."

"Us?" she asked in return, "Our nasal septum does still work, you know."

He gave her an indifferent look. "Ain't bothered y'all before."

She made a face, disgusted. "Seriously, how old are you? You're acting out worse than me!"

He flashed a smile at her. "Didn't burn down any houses yet, Greene."

"You're impossible."

His face turning serious, he jumped down from his perch, and caught her arm at the elbow. "C'mon," he said, dragging her out of the house.

"Where are we going?" she cried out muffled, but kept up her pace not to make him drag her behind.

"We'll keep up yer training," he stated, walking towards the armory to get the guns before they went out of the walls, "We started, but didn't finish." He let her when they stopped in front of the armory, "And there's something we need t' talk."

She gave him a suspicious look as he went inside, then she followed him, asking, "What?" She walked through the corridor that held medicine and medical stuff on the shelves at the wall before they reached to the cabinets that stored guns and met with the inventory clerk before the room.

The jolly woman greeted them with a shrieked hi. Daryl couldn't tell if she was surprised or intimated by suddenly seeing them inside the armory but when she saw Beth next him, she sputtered out, "Oh. Hi, Beth." Beth gave her a little hand shake, with a smile lips closed. "What can I do for you?" the woman asked.

"We need guns," Daryl stated the obvious.

She nodded, mumbled out an okay, as Daryl took a Glock and handed it to Beth. She took it frowning then turned to the other woman. "Olivia," she asked gently, "Could you please tell Dr. Anderson I'm going to target practice and will be late in morning?"

The jolly woman nodded again as they started walking out. "That shoulda been _me_, telling Dr. Anderson _I'll_ be late," Beth told him pointedly.

"Mm," Daryl grumbled out under his breath.

She opened her mouth to say something then closed it, shaking her head. "Sometimes you're really hopeless."

In an answer, Daryl gave her a half of smirk, mostly hidden under his shifting shoulder. They walked out of the walls in silence and followed the down trotted path in the woods for half an hour before Beth stopped and turned to him, "What are we doin'?" she asked, looking around, turning around herself, "Because we've been stomping around in the woods like half of an hour, but haven't been tracking or shooting or anything."

Stopping too, he gestured ahead with his head, towards the little cabin Rick had found. Beth spun around and watched as Rick approached them in front of the house. "Did you tell her?" Rick asked him as he looked at Beth's confused look.

"Nah—" Daryl said. He was going to but she couldn't just shut the hell up, and he also realized a frustrated Beth was a sight he kinda liked to watch, but he wasn't gonna tell the other man about that.

"Tell me what?" Beth demanded.

"We're gonna steal guns from the armory," Rick stated unceremoniously, "More like _you're_ gonna steal 'em." Beth looked at them with widened eyes. "We need guns," Rick continued, "I don't care what they say. It's not safe. Nowhere is safe anymore."

She nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know. But—why don't you take them yourself?"

Daryl shook his head. "Nah, we're the usual suspects. They watch us. You—they don't." It made sense. Beth was a natural people person, mingling with people was as easy as breathing to her, even her time in Grady hadn't stripped that away from her, for which he was more than glad. The way she'd been on the road had really given him cold shivers; that look on her face, the way she caressed her left wrist even not knowing. He was just glad she'd managed to shut it off. Well, mostly. There was a hint of annoyance at her face now and he knew the reason. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it tightly.

"You go to the armory almost daily for medicine," Rick explained further, unaware of her reaction, "You won't draw attention." Her brows tightened, but she still kept her silence. "You can leave a window open in the morning. Tomorrow night Deanna will have a house party. You can slip off when no one is looking and get into armory by the window and take the guns."

She continued to look at them for a few second in silence then merely nodded. "Okay."

Rick threw at him a sideway glance, then nodded back, and started walking away.

When they were alone she turned at him, her eyes hardened, her legs slightly apart in a defensive position. "Do you really think me invisible?" she asked, "Something no one will notice."

He shook his head, "Nah—people notice ya," he answered her truthfully, "Jus' not in the wrong way. You ain't wired up that way." And she wasn't, not with that pretty face, petite form and wide blue eyes. He knew she was tough, just not in the usual ways.

At his words, though, she frowned. "That's just a pretty way telling me I'm harmless."

"You _do_ harm," Daryl opposed, remembering the way she stuck the scissors into that bitch's eye, "I've seen it." He walked toward her and held her by fixing her a look, "Wear it as your armor," he instructed, "You play up by them game while you wait your time, then you strike. The element of surprise, they ain't gonna know till it hits them."

Her face loosened up, but she sighed out. "That was what Noah said before we escaped."

Daryl nodded. "He was a smart kid."

"Didn't save him though."

"Didn't say you're invincible," Daryl shot back with a shrug then leveled at her another look, and gestured, "C'mon."

"What?"

"Since we're already here—" He gestured again around, and cracked up a smirk at her, "might as well make the best of it."

Her eyes suddenly lit up, the heavy moment forgotten, and she smiled back at him in a way that ringed the danger bells in his mind, screaming red. "Yes, Mr. Dixon," she said walking to him, almost in a leisure strut, but he wouldn't know for sure because he sure as fuck wasn't checking it.

"Yeah—keep it down," he growled out, almost automatically, "start trackin'."

"I even don't know what we're tracking," she complained walking.

"Thought we already done this talk."

"Yeah, I will know it when I see it," she mimicked him, and bent down over the earth to pick up any trail. Yesterday morning while he was out he'd seen old tracks of something he was sure Beth would very like to see. He stood hovering above her a few feet away, protecting her back and guiding her when it was necessary, but mostly watching her as she tried to figure out what they'd been tracking.

She knelt beside the prints she had managed to differentiate at least from other tracks, her brows pulled together in deep concentration. "It looks familiar, but I can't say what it's," she told him, tilting her head up to find him, "It's a big animal, much bigger than a deer and a lot of heavier—" Her fingers dived in the depths of the print.

"Mm," Daryl drawled out, and urged her forward to move on. She opened her mouth as he heard a shift behind him.

He held his hand up in the air and she immediately got quiet, pulling up on her feet, her eyes alert and aware. He listened to the sounds of the wild then swiveled on quick feet, his crossbow already on his shoulder, aimed.

"Come out," he barked out, "Now!"

The Alexandrian recruiter ushered out off from their left side, his hands up in the air, and a bit stunned. "You can tell the difference between human and walkers by sound?" the man asked, sounding surprised.

Daryl shrugged, not quite understanding what the fuck was the matter. Walkers snared, slithered, skulked like humans stomped on like a bull in a china shop. The man gave them a look, his eyes checking Beth as she fell a step back behind him, "Can you tell the difference between a good guy and a bad guy?" he asked further when Daryl didn't answer, "Rick doesn't seem to be an expert at that."

He lowered the crossbow, taking a step further into him, "Ain't much of a difference no more," he sneered. In return at his hostile gesture, the man merely smiled kindly. "Why are you following us?" Daryl demanded, walking in on him even closer.

The younger man looked around, shaking his head. "I didn't know I was. I came out to hunt rabbits."

He glowered at the good-looking man, at his gentle smile and expression. Despite that it was pissing him off a great deal—being followed and all that fuck- there was something undeniably earnest with the recruiter, something true and sincere. Because yeah, sure he could tell the difference. Well, mostly. The problem wasn't no more about the difference between a good guy and a bad guy, but mostly between a bad guy and a _worse_ guy. On that, sometimes he got wrong. And when he was wrong, things had a tendency to go badly, _very_ badly.

When he didn't speak, Beth took a step up, and got in between them. "We're tracking—something," she explained, pausing a little, "I don't know yet what. You see, Daryl's teaching me."

The recruiter, what was his name—Aaron—shifted a look at him, a look he didn't like, not one fucking bit. "We—um found some tracks—" she gave out a half smile, almost shy, "They're not rabbits."

Aaron smiled at her back, and asked—his eyes shifting toward him again, "Mind if I join?"

He kept the other man's eyes for a few seconds before he turned, and started walking away, "Keep up—" he said over his shoulder, "and keep quiet."

Behind him, in hushed voices, they were talking—_constantly_, and it started giving him a headache that hurt like hell. Aaron's good-natured ways had loosened up Beth further, and she'd started to retell the times they'd spent in the woods alone, "Once he got us a mud snake—" she whispered out, so close to the other man that Daryl almost didn't hear her, "It was so gross, but I was _so_ hungry."

Seriously they ate dog meat, snakes wouldn't be worse than that, and if they kept chattering like this, they would catch no shit. "Shut it off—" he growled out at them, "keep quiet."

Silence, blessed silence, and it only lasted for a few seconds, before he heard Aaron's whisper behind him again, "Is he always like this?"

Then Beth's sigh. "You get used to it." A pause. "Eventually."

"I know how it's to feel like an outsider," the recruiter told Beth, and his back got stiffed, and he was about to bark out at them another keep quiet before the man continued, "Eric and I—we're still looked at as outsiders in a lot of ways. We've heard of our fair share of well-meaning, but hilariously offensive things from some otherwise really nice men and women."

Beth mumbled out, "I'm sorry."

The fact that he'd been once one of those people, one of those people who could say those offensive things didn't make any good to his wrecked nerves. He could hear an indifferent shrug in Aaron's voice as he told her, "People are people. The more afraid they get, the more stupid they become." He remembered all the crude, hurtful jokes Merle's did for people like Aaron and Eric, and how he stopped there, not doing a shit. Merle had done a lot of stupid things, and in all of them, he'd stood there, not doing a shit. Story of his life before the turn, really. "They're scared of us for different reasons," Aaron said for the last, and Daryl knew it was more for him than her, he knew the man knew he was listening to the whole conservation from the very beginning.

_Nicely played,_ _man_, he sneered inside, "I met a lot of bad people out here doing a lot of bad shit," he told them, shifting aside, "They weren't afraid of nothing."

_I ain't afraid of nothing._

His eyes met with Beths' for a second and she gave him a look, heavy and all knowing. He turned back, slithered through the trees, leading the way. "They were—" Aaron called behind him, "People always are scared of what they don't know. They're less scared of me now." He stopped for a pause, before suggesting, almost tentatively, "You should go to Deanna's party."

Yeah, like it was going to ever happen. "I got nothing to prove." He stopped ushering out of the woods to a clearing of wild grass, and what they'd been—them unknowingly—tracking finally at their sight.

From his left side, he heard Beth's gasp, a hitch of breath, and when he drifted his eyes at her to catch a look of her expression, suddenly the whole exercise was worth of his troubles, even including Aaron's annoying mumbo jumbo about letting people to know shit about you.

"He's so beautiful," Beth gasped out, looking at the wild horse in front of them, mesmerized as the animal whined, lifting up his long graceful neck. "Buttons—" the recruiter said, looking at _him_ in awe, "You found Buttons."

They both looked at Aaron. "One of the kids saw him run by the gate a while back. Thought he looked like a Buttons," he explained, "I've been trying to catch him for months." He gave out a small laugh. "I haven't seen him for a while. I was afraid it was too late."

They dropped their bags down on the ground as Daryl took out the rope he had brought. "Every time Eric or I come close, he gets spooked," Aaron continued, then asked him seeing him with ropes, "Have you done this before?"

"My group did," he answered, coiling the rope over his right shoulder, preparing, "But they weren't out there that long. The longer they're out there, the more they become what they really are." Free, wild, untamed… "Stay here," he ordered them, leaving them to walk toward the wild animal.

Beth was right. He was so beautiful. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, all right?" he spoke to the animal, slowly approaching, "Good boy," he soothed in whispers as the horse whined and started eating grass again, "Yeah, jus' keep on eating. Yeah, good boy." A step closer and his hand almost touched its beautiful mane, "Yeah, you used to be somebody's, huh? But now you're just yours."

There was a pang in his chest telling him that it was wrong to catch him, trap him, tame him—it was so beautiful just the way he was now—then the next moment, the horse got spooked, nickered, shaking his head, stepping back.

He took quick steps back, too, as Beth cried behind him, "Daryl!"

He diverted his eyes quickly, searching then spotted walkers limping toward them. _Shit!_ The wild animal reared on its hind legs, neighing, then took off. Beth and Aaron rushed to his side, Aaron aiming his rifle, Beth's knife already in her hand. He quickly slid his bow across his shoulder over his elbow, yelling at them, "Come on. They're coming." He fired the first arrow as the same time Aaron shot the walker behind, the bullet making a muffled whip with the silencer. Shifting his eyes, he caught Beth plucking her knife through into a walker's brain.

Grabbing the crossbar at the side, he hit at the nearest dead with it, putting all of his arm's force behind it, scattering the rotting brain. Twisting aside, he threw the bow the second to his left side, killing another walker and stepped back, looking around.

Quick as it'd started, they were all down.

Picking up his arrow from the dead, he gestured at his company. "Here—come—" He stood up and slid the crossbow over his back once again and started running after the horse, "This way."

Following the tracks, they found him half of an hour later, circled with walkers. "Noooo—" Beth sobbed out beside him, "No."

He let out a grumble, his chest tightening, as the walkers got it down, already gnawing at his flesh. A twinge of guilt seeped through him again, even though he knew it was some nonsense shit. This couldn't be his fault, could it? "Nothing beautiful lasts in this world anymore," Beth muttered out silently, her voice broken.

He checked out to see if she was crying, but her eyes were dry. He wondered if she forgot how to cry again, what had happened in his arms a week ago was just a one-time thing. He shook his head at her, "No, it don't," he agreed, walking away toward the dead, "I get the one on the right side," he told them, because there weren't left much to say else.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

Good

Fuck him good, he did go to the party tomorrow night, well, mostly. Beth was gonna hightail it out of there to steal the guns, so he figured out he could watch her out from afar, not lurking behind a tree, moping around, _nope_.

Beth had of course tried to talk to him into it, saying Aaron was right, that it could be a good start to mingle with people, letting them know him, like he'd give a damn about that. All in frankness, he just preferred the other way around, knowing shit about people, it wasn't worth the hassle. It was different with their group, they'd become family by hardship and shared tragedies, but these people… He'd help them if they ever needed his help, but that was it, no bonding over book clubs or home warming parties.

So, he'd better go and perch at his place on the railings, because Beth had already slipped off of the party like half an hour ago, and really it was _just_ ridiculous, fucking batshit crazy, standing behind a tree, secretly watching.

"I know you'd be here—" Beth's voice sung at him from behind. He spun around, eyes narrowed, "Lurking," she said back at his glower, a small smile tugged at her lips.

He was glad to be in the shadows of the night, because he felt his skin heated up, like he was on a fever, burning him inside out, "I—I ain't lurking."

"Hmm mm," Beth smiled too sweetly, too sweetly, which made him glower at her harder.

"Was checking on you," he clarified, because sure as hell he was _not_ lurking.

She lost the smile, her lips pulling around to make _that_ sound, "Oh."

He pressed down the memories it brought, because he was _not_ gonna think about the funeral home, not now. "Did you take the guns?" he asked. Armory was very close to Deanne's home, so he could also see it from where he stood, and he'd already seen her sliding off from the back window, but he wasn't gonna tell her about that, either.

"Yeah, gave 'em to Rick. That's why I came. He told me to tell you to meet with him at the cabin in the morning."

He nodded. "Do you take one for yourself?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I'm good." She pointed her hip, "Besides, I have my knife on me all the time."

"Ran any problem?" he questioned further, nodding again.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," she answered, and he frowned. "A small boy caught me, looking for the guns." His frown grew deeper. "I got it under control." She paused for a second, "Will bake him cookies," He gave her a look, his eyebrow arching, "With chocolate chips," she said pointedly, fishing out a quarter of bar off her pockets.

Bribing children with chocolate chips cookies, surely a Beth move. She smiled again, but this time that all knowing edge was gone, it was simply kind and warm as she walked beside him at the tree, and looked at the house ahead of them.

"When you look at it from this side, it really looks ridiculous, does it?"

"Mm," he silently grunted out, because well, it was exactly _what_ he'd thought too. She twisted her neck aside and gave him a look. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but sometimes I miss being out, being in the wildness… It doesn't make sense, but I do." She paused, turning her gaze back to the house, "If it's like this for me, I can't even begin to imagine how it's for you, Daryl."

He stood there next to her, watching the lightened up house, soft, warm lights pouring out of the windows, and distant murmurs of the talks—things he had _always_ hated—shallow and fake, but there he stood, behind a pine tree, still watching it. "I'm trying," he muttered out, a fading memory in the distant, so faint even he couldn't hear his own voice.

But Beth did. "I know."

She took his arm, looped her hand around it and started dragging him away from the house. And he shouldn't have let her. Not the dragging him away part, but the looping gesture, almost affectionate, almost caring. Before, when it'd been only two of them, they'd shared those kinds of little moments, holding hands, piggybacks, playful banter, and it was nice, but they weren't alone no more. So he just should pull his arm back because it felt wrong—not nice—wrong—expect his arm wasn't fucking listening to him, because it kept staying where the fuck it'd coiled around hers.

And that moment, in that moment, Daryl figured out he was kinda in a big trouble.

'Cause despite his best intentions, he did fall in love once. But who didn't, right? Everyone fell in love at least once in his lifetime, even Merle did, no big deal. Except it was. He must've been in his mid twenties or something, and so was she. She was the daughter of a local store owner, with hair like sunshine and a pair of legs so tall that he couldn't stop himself gazing at, and a slim waist that he would circle with only one arm. Short story to the long, she was very pretty, with a smile so big and bright, and by some incomprehensible reasons he couldn't fathom she was throwing that smile at him every time he passed by his father's store in the downtown. It started like a wildfire, quickly sweeping him off his feet, and for a month or so, he was happy, happiest man alive in the God's green earth, then shit got real.

He didn't know what happened, not really, and now looking backwards he could only say life happened, that was it. Because Daryl, being the stupidest Dixon had ever lived, always liked nice girls, always had. And nice girls liked him back too, for a while, then shit got real, and well, things got ugly. He guessed it took a few months the novelty of it to wear off, leaving the reality to set back in, the reality that he was just another redneck asshole in the North Georgia's god forgetting mountains, drifting away with his bigger asshole for a brother. Chicks—they liked chick flicks, the bad boys turning to sappy puppies, but only in movies. When it happened in real life, they got caught first, living through it then wising up after a certain while, they bailed out. And who could really blame them? It simply wasn't worth the hassle, and he got an inkling they loved the drama it caused more than they loved him anyways, the feel of being special, to think that love could _change_ him.

Like it was a switch, and he _could_ switch it on and off on a whim.

He'd tried then bad girls, when his—uh—urges got the best of him, and well, it was a heck of whole another different kind of story, which simply made him decide it wasn't really worth the trouble, he didn't even like sex all that much to begin with, too close, too sweaty, too much—skin, and well, he was really into the nice girls.

And that was _why_ it was such a big trouble—her hand tucked into his arm—because it made him feel like a neon sign put on his forehead, flashing "sucker" to the whole damn world to see. The stupidest Dixon had ever lived.

And it was wrong—so wrong on so many levels, she was Hershel's daughter, her daddies' little princess, and she must be what-double younger of his age—and—

Sasha hit the door furiously, storming out of the house while they walked away, putting him out of his reverie. Beth sighed out next to him, following the other woman with her gaze as she went to other way from them. "I worry about Sasha," she said, turning to him, "She's not well. Not after what happened to her brother and Bob."

She must've heard of Bob's demise, but he wasn't gonna talk to her about that now, not ever. "I wish she got someone to help her like you helped me on the road after Grady," she then remarked.

She'd said it in that wishful-kind way she said those things, like it was no big deal, making his steps falter, looking at her, and in his mind "sucker" was flashing even redder.

She smiled at him, too sweetly, a way too sweetly. "I ain't done nothin'," he mumbled out, starting walking again, and he really _should_ pull off his arm, because he'd already seen this movie—

"You _did_," she insisted, "You fixed the music box."

He shook his head. "'s nothing."

She gave out another sigh, and rolled her eyes. "You know you could just accept a thank you of gratitude once for a while."

"Mm," he grumbled out, then asked, 'cause he was really, really the stupidest Dixon had ever lived, "How?"

She shrugged, "Well, you can just say—I dunno—'you're welcome'?"

He looked at her. "Ya 're welcome," he grunted out even rougher than usual, because suddenly it was hard even to talk.

She smiled at him big, and the word "sucker" in his mind was a red so bright it'd make a fucking lighthouse in the dark, 'cause he couldn't stop himself saying, "I really missed ya when you were gone, Beth Greene."

That was it, she halted in her steps, turned to him, her eyes fixated on his, and he wondered if she could kiss him again, his hands itching, because he couldn't do it himself, because it was _still_ wrong—but if she would—maybe—just maybe—he would—then she broke the moment, with a smile, shaking her head at him.

"No one around here to get you drunk on moonshine, huh?" she quipped, laughing.

The moment passed, he started breathing again, "Well, maybe we could jus' steal from Abraham."

"Oh, no," she let out a mock of gasp, "I'm still young, Mr. Dixon, to attempt that one."

He smiled, walking, trying to decide if he should pull his arm back now, apparently Beth saw the moment between them but decided to play safe, breaking it with a quip, so maybe—maybe—it wasn't so much of a trouble anyway. Then Aaron came out of the house they were just passing by and stood in the porch. "Oh, hi," he greeted them.

He pulled his arm away so quickly for a moment he felt like an idiot, both Beth and Aaron looking at him funnily as he cursed himself inward. Aaron looked at them, then smiled gently. "You did go to the party then," the younger man said, putting dots together.

"No," he said.

Beth shook his head. "Caught him outside the house."

Aaron gave him a look which he shrugged off, "Come on inside then, we were just having dinner."

Daryl gave the other man a narrowed eyes. "You told me to go to the party, but you didn't go yourself?"

Aaron shrugged. "Oh, I was never going to. Eric's legs being all bandaged and all, he can't leave the home." He gestured with his head, "C'mon in. We made spaghetti."

Daryl glowered at his easy tone, but Beth clasped her hands in glee. "Spaghetti. I haven't eaten pasta for ages.

"It's with a homemade sauce," Aaron tried to encourage them further, but Beth had already started taking steps hurriedly. He followed after her, with a bit less enthusiasm. But seriously, homemade pasta sauce… he couldn't have missed it.

Beth and Eric was already knowing each other since his time in the infirmary because of his ankle, and hit off immediately from where they'd left off with their equally easy-going personality. Talking was so natural to them that Daryl was a bit jealous how easily they could keep on yammering about anything. He'd always marveled at that skill in anyone even before the turn, but after the turn, with everything else going on, it was even more mind blowing, expect when it wasn't fucking annoying.

He wasn't annoyed now, though, not anymore. The room where they had dinner was dimly lit, there were even candles in the table for only decoration purposes, and wine glasses that just so big for a drink and forks and even spoons for spaghetti, and they were chattering over drinks and spaghetti, using even spoons to coil the pasta around the fork, and it was then it'd passed over the borders of annoyance to simple absurdity.

It was absurd. Just more than a week ago, they were eating worms on the road. He took a big catch from the pasta into his fork and bowing his head, he slurped into his mouth, sliding it between his lips, acutely aware of the noises he was doing, and Beth's eyes on him he took another bit and gulped it down in the same way. He wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. "This's good," he said, his eyes catching the white handkerchief, and patted his mouth good with it for an extra measure, "Uh—thanks."

Eric smiled warmly at him. "Yes, it's really nice," Beth said, coiling the pasta in the spoon into her fork and brought it to her mouth. She took a sip from her wine, too, to swallow it down. She let out a deep, appreciating breath, "Really nice," she said, putting her left hand on her belly.

Eric smiled bigger. "It's, isn't it?" he asked, and went on without missing a bit, leaning on towards him. "When you're out there, if you happen to be in a store or something, Mrs. Neudermeyer's really looking for a pasta maker," the chirping man said as Daryl looked at him confused, tossing a glance at Beth. His eyes then caught Aaron's look but it was heavy as he let out a sigh.

Eric didn't seem like he heard it. "We're all really trying to her to shut up about it," he continued, playing with his pasta, "I mean, we have crates of dried pasta in here, but she wants to make her own or something. I really think she just wants to something to talk about, so… " He paused for a second, giving the effect on the "so", and finished, totally missing the way Aaron put down his fork beside his plate and looked at him. "If you see one out on your travels, it would go a long way to…" He finally caught up, seeing Aaron's expression, and bowed his head. "And you don't know what I'm talking about…" he mumbled out, and lifted his head back at his boyfriend. "You didn't ask him already?"

Daryl fixed them a suspicious look, "Ask me what?" he grunted out, placing the wine glass, then his eyes caught Beth again, the sudden bright look in her eyes. "Are ya in on this, too?" He stood up, alert and pissed off, and a feeling like he was conned into something nudging at him, "Started goin' behind my back?"

Her eyes widened, she looked at him as if he lost his mind. "Could you please sit down and let the man talk?"

Aaron stood up before he did, not that he was gonna sit down or anything. He hated when people go behind his back and his nerves were already frayed up to the sky, and…and he really wanted to hit something…for what he didn't even have a damn idea… "Perhaps it might better if I just show you," Aaron said, "Please, these way." He gestured ahead the corridor. Beth made a move to stand up too, but with a raising hand, Aaron stopped her. "Um—I think I need to talk with Daryl alone."

Slowly nodding, Beth sat down again, and pressing down his anger, Daryl decided to follow the other man. They came to a door at the back of the house, and opening it Aaron reveal a basement floor which was going down with a few steps staircase, all lightened up with fluorescent, countless gibberish and motor parts, and bikes lying around.

"When I got the place, there was that frame and some parts and equipment," Aaron explained, walking down into the shop, "Whoever lived here had built them."

Daryl's eyes scanned the room. "It's a lot of parts for one bike," he observed.

"Whenever I came across any parts out there, I brought them back. I didn't know what I'd need. I always thought I'd learn how to do it, but…" he paused, giving him a look as he made rounds, "I get the feeling you already know what to do with it."

Aaron lifted his head up to him. "And the thing is," the man said, "you're going to need a bike."

He already started guessing the answer but he still asked, picking up a spare part from the workbench, "Why?"

"I told Deanna not to give you a job," he answered plainly, "Because I think I have one for you. I'd like you to be Alexandria's other recruiter."

Stopping playing with the spare part, Daryl put it down and looked at younger man. He'd thought sooner or later they would give him a job, supply running or hunting or something, it wasn't like that they'd let go his skills unused, it was a goldmine these days, but recruiting, well, it wasn't something he'd expected. "I don't want Eric risking his life anymore," Aaron continued.

Daryl's attention snapped back at him. "You want me risking mine, right?"

Aaron shrugged off. "Yeah," he answered, "because you know what you're doing. Eric doesn't." He let out a breath, and continued, and Daryl knew he was telling him true. "You're good out there. But you don't belong out there. I know it's hard for you and I understand right now you need to be out there sometimes. So do I." He gave another pause to make process the things he'd said, then continued, "But that's not the only reason. The main reason why I want you to help me recruit is because you do know the difference between a good person and a bad person. And that's what I need the most when I'm out."

What he'd said moved him, something seizing him at his chest tightly. He shrugged it off, and mumbled out, "I got nothing else to do."

It was also true. It wasn't _also_ like that he'd sit idly around all day, not doing a shit, perched on the porch's railings. He was getting closed up in here, too, trapped like a wild animal, and Beth…well, let's not think of Beth right now, he suggested himself. Being outside would done good to him. "Thanks," he said, climbing the stairs, but before he left the garage, he turned around, "I'll get you some rabbits."

Aaron chuckled behind him. "Great."

"So…?" Beth asked when they were walking down towards their houses from Aaron and Eric's place, their bodies carefully away from each other, "What did you talk?"

"He wanted me to take Eric's place," Daryl said unceremoniously.

She smiled big. "I knew it." She nodded at herself. "It's perfect."

His eyebrows pulled into a frown. "Ain't you really into it, right?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in question.

She ran her eyes away, shrugging. "I might've mentioned Eric in the infirmary how good you're at finding people."

His frown deepened. "He said he wanted me in 'cause I know the difference between bad people and good people."

All in seriousness, stopping for a second walking, she nodded, "And you do, Daryl," she said.

He shrugged off the compliment again, because he wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not, he was just used to things being ugly and that shit got you some life experience, that was all. "Jus' thought they'd make me a supply runner or somethin'"

She shook her head. "Anyone can be a supply runner, anyone will need to be someday, too," she paused a second, stopping again just before they reached to the houses they'd split up, "But what you do," she continued, letting out a small breath, "You're made for this, Daryl, made for finding people, helping them out. That's the man you're. And I don't think it's anything about how things are now. I know I told you before it was like you're made for how things are now, but I was wrong. But this _is_ how things are now, and if there're people out there who need your help, who need you to find them, then you have to find them."

Before he could say anything, her hand caressed his cheek briefly, a soft gentle thing, before she walked away from him.

The next morning when he met with Rick, he felt like standing at a crossroad, a dilemma he couldn't know for sure. Rick opened the bag that Beth had stashed the guns inside, "Take your pick."

And Daryl decided. "Look, I've been thinkin'," he said, and he did, since last night, sitting on the porch, looking at the open sky, he'd thought all night, "Do we really need these? I mean, things go bad, yeah, sure, and we do what we gotta do, but it's like you said, we don't need these for that."

_No, I'm good,_ Beth had said. _You're made for this,_ she had also said.

"Right now we don't," Rick pointed out the obvious, but they couldn't live in fear all the time, somewhere at some point they had to start. Daryl might haven't cut his hair or taken showers or slept inside, but at least he could do this, at least he could try.

"You wanted me to try, right?" he reminded Rick, then shaking his head decisively, he said, "I'm good."


	5. Chapter 5

V.

Stupid

Before he met with Aaron at the gates before they left Alexandria for his first official recruitment trip, Beth found him in the garage. He was checking the bike for final controls, making sure it wouldn't break down on the road. That would haven't left him stranded on the road as Aaron was gonna follow him with the car, but he'd hate to leave another bike behind.

"Hey—" Beth greeted him, slowly descending the stair into the workshop.

"Hey—" he called out back, lifting his head up from where he knelt in front of the front tire, and his hands stopped, seeing her expression. "Ya okay?"

Because once again there was that look in her eyes, that hollowness on the road, and it was the worst thing he could see right now before he left her behind in Alexandria. Even behind the steel walls, everything could go wrong, they weren't safe, they'd never be safe again, no way, and every little parting would be the last, and he already knew how much she hated saying goodbye.

"Yeah, good," she answered with a shrug, "Saw Maggie this morning, had breakfast together. I think she's still feeling guilty about giving up on me… and it's a bit—you know—"

"—annoying-?" he suggested.

She shrugged again. "Yeah… What happened, happened," she repeated his words, "I mean I feel bad about it, of course, but it doesn't help with her doing all those puppy eyes on me every time we speak."

"Give her time," he told her, poking the tire with the tip of his boot, "she'll get over it." The air inside the tires was troubling him and there wasn't anything around to pump it up except an old bicycle pump Aaron had found. If they would find a gas station on the road, he'd fill it properly, until then it'd need to make it.

He stood up and went to his backpack. Beth shrugged again, muttering a yeah, and shifted on her legs. He looked at her. Something was on. He couldn't know, but something sure as hell was going on with her. "Are ya gonna tell it or what?" he asked, picking up a black sunglasses he'd found at the bench.

She let a deep breath out. "I think Dr. Anderson beats his wife."

His hands stopped over his backpack, dropping the sunglasses on the top. "What?"

"Remember the child I told you about catching me? I cooked him cookies last night. He's the doctor's son. We talked over, and he sorta opened up to me. I—I'd noticed something was up with him. With Dr. Anderson—" She clarified, running her eyes, "He—uh—he's reminded me of Dawn sometimes—" she said with a small voice, "She—she used to lose it, too, when she was stressed out or angry."

Then he understood her reluctance to talk. They'd never clearly talked about her days in the hospital, he'd asked her once if they'd hurt her, and she'd said "not much", and he'd figured out he didn't want to know, just like how she didn't want to know about Terminus. He'd told himself what happened, happened again, and they had to live on. But Noah—Noah had _talked_.

Now even possibility that someone else hurt her before his very eyes made him growl out, anger starting simmering in him, his hands fisting at the backpack. "Did—did he hit you, too?" he asked roughly.

Quickly, she shook her head. "Me? No, no. He hasn't lost it that much, not yet, but he will. Not today, not tomorrow, but one day. They always do." She paused, "I told Rick. He needs to know."

Letting out a breath, Daryl nodded. "The problem isn't his temper," Beth continued, "You—uh—have some anger issues, too, but manage to get a hold of 'em." Could he, really? Sometimes he wondered. Sometimes he just lost his shit, too, got all frayed up and crazy, just like last night in the dinner—another reason why he needed to be out, to take breath out, to cool his head off. "These people—they can't. Maybe they even don't see a reason to try to anymore. They view themselves as too valuable now, and they trust that."

He had to frown at that, "Whaddya mean?"

She shook her head. "He thinks—trusts that Deanne can't dare to do anything to him because he's the only surgeon in the town. Because you can't waste a valuable asset like that, not just because he happens to occasionally hit his wife. That's what he trusts."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," he murmured, a dangerous edge entering into his tone.

At which Beth let out ironic laugh, cutting. "Deanne already knows it," she told him pointedly, "and has chosen to turn a blind eye on it, like how Dawn turned a blind eye over the stuff happening at Grady."

Suddenly it was too hard to breath. Noah had mentioned beatings, forced labor, and night visits, but he'd assured that no one managed to touch Beth yet, she always found a way to deflect their advances, but Beth had stayed even after Noah's escape. There was her own admission when she'd made an advance on him that she was still more or less a virgin, but stil...

There was something profoundly disturbing thinking her getting raped—something that made his insides claw at him, knocking the breath out of his lungs, making his head dizzy, hands trembling. And he had no idea why. The world they lived now was full with such horror and dread that prospect wouldn't have made him feel like this. Hell, if it'd been possible, he even woulda warned her to let them do whatever they wanted, tell her to go away inside, and hide, somewhere they could never find her, and live.

That was what he'd always done himself while he was beaten—with each slap of the belt across his back, he'd withdrawn inside, in a place no one could find him, no one would touch him—hurt him. In a place, where he was safe.

In his silence, she continued, "We have to do something. Things aren't bad now here as it was at Grady, but if we don't do something, I'm afraid it might be."

"What's Rick sayin'?" Daryl asked, putting himself off his dark thoughts. Those thoughts best to left in the darkness, never uttered out in the light; too heavy, too bleak, too foul even for this world.

"I think he thinks we have to…kill him," Beth answered, "But I don't know if he's really decided."

"Whatcha think?" he asked then.

She let out a deep sigh. "I don't know," she accepted, "Killing him is a stretch, yeah, but if we let off this slip, he might get even worse. I _think_—" she looked at him pointedly, "You need to find us another doctor. _That_ would get him in line." A cloud passed over her features, "Hopefully."

"What?" Daryl asked, alert with the following 'hopefully'.

"Well, Dawn was having the same problem too. Our Doctor was having a good time thinking he was too valuable for anyone to try anything, too, and he was right. One day Dawn found herself another doctor injured." She gave him another pointed look, "and then what do you think our good doctor did?"

Daryl gave her back a heavy one. She nodded back. "Yeah, he got afraid then had me kill the man with the wrong medicine." She looked around, running her eyes away, her head shaking, "There must be still good people out there, Daryl, there must be," she said, almost stubbornly, almost as if she was trying to convince herself, then her gaze found his, "So you really need to find them."

Solemnly, he nodded. "I will."

She paused for a second, pursing her lips a bit, "But you know, if you happen to come across with any books on medical stuff, be sure to collect them." Another pause, "Just in case."

He took his backpack from the bench and hung it on the bike's back. "Perhaps we might go on a run to a library or something—and clear off some books—" she mused out, "to teach ourselves stuff-"

He nodded as he climbed on the bike, turning the motor on. "Watch but stay out of it until Rick decides what to do," he told her because somehow he felt like she couldn't have helped herself but got involved, and he didn't want her to. That had become a sore point to her after her time at Grady, which sounded trouble. "I'll talk to him when I return."

She didn't give him any approval, so he called out, a clear warning in his tone, "Beth."

"Okay, okay," she said, nodding, "I'll wait." He still didn't ride away, but kept looking at her. She waved him off, "Now, off you go. You know I don't say goodbye."

With a pointed look, he placed the sunglass at his eyes. "You'll miss me, girl, when I'm gone."

He didn't stop then but rode away, a smiling Beth in his rear mirror as she shook her head.

Aaron made his rounds systemically. Daryl had realized and appreciated it while they were going over his plans on the map two days ago, preparing for their debut as a team. Before he met with them on the road, the younger man had managed to scan over a diameter of more than twenty miles on the Route 16 as the center point, so they headed there first, enlarging the circle.

They'd left the car and bike on the road side where he saw having a good advantage point, into a small natural hiding place along the road. Aaron followed him without question. It was interesting how smooth things were going between them, Aaron giving his opinion, but at the end following his directions. Daryl guessed the other man had left the leading position to him because of his expertise in the wilderness, which Daryl had taken with gratitude, because after his talk with Beth this morning, his new mission to find people to bring in wasn't just about finding good people who would need their help, but it was also about survival—their survival, too.

The talk was hard at first, especially while Beth opening up, but if she'd forced herself to open up to him about her time at Grady, then she must have really sensed things might turn to bad, otherwise she could never do that, never speak of those days. He just knew. He wished he would've spoken to Rick before he left about what was happening, but Aaron was already waiting him.

They treaded through roots and uneven ground, his crossbow in his hand, his head bowed, carefully checking for signs as the companion watched _him_ with the same carefulness. "How long do you have been doing this?"

"Doin' what?" Daryl asked back, taking a turn toward the sun, leaving it always behind his right shoulder to find their way back.

"Tracking," Aaron clarified as Daryl broke a twig in case that they were somehow got confused and made circles.

"Mm," he grunted out, straightening back, wondering if it was going to turn into yet another what was you doing before the turn talks, because he'd suffered enough of them as already, couldn't take on another one. "A long time—I got lost in the woods once when I was nine. Came back nine days later."

Aaron shook his head empathically. "Must be hard," he said, "Your parents must have gone mad."

Daryl chuckled out. His old man hadn't even noticed it. Finding his way back, he'd walked through the back door and made himself a sandwich. After eating wild berries, bugs and worms for nine days, the simple peanut butter and jam sandwich had tasted like a feast. "Yeah, he did—" he muttered out then stopped seeing three different marks in the ground.

He raised his hands, and halted Aaron.

Aaron turned on him, with searching eyes. Daryl aimed the crossbow on his shoulder, carefully treading on the path, behind him Aaron rose his gun as they approached a small clearing, then he stopped.

A hitch of breath came behind him as Aaron saw what lay ahead of them. Ripped off body parts, still bleeding on the ground, a lower part of body, one arm, a foot, but the rest was missing. Bile rose in his throat. "Whoever did this, took what was left with them." He made a small arc around the scene, taking in the details, "This just happened."

Highly alert, he started moving away deeper in the woods, Aaron beside him walked with the same alertness, his gun rose now higher, back to back searching the grounds. Then they slowed their pace upon seeing the scene at the tree.

More than anything it was the girl's blonde hair that had taken the air out of his lungs. Her petite body was torn apart, her guts—what was remained from them pouring out of her stomach in gore, and the stench was even worse in close, but her hair, kissed by sunshine—still bright even in this dreadful carnage—and for a second or so, he only saw Beth, an image from nightmares.

"She's tied up," Aaron mumbled out, frozen and distant, "They fed on her. Tore her apart." His eyes searched for his. "This just happened?" he asked as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

Running his eyes away, Daryl nodded, "Yeah."

"How the hell did this happen?" Aaron asked, but what he meant how the hell the world had come to this, the girls being tied up at trees, almost as if a sacrifice, to be fed up. The bile rose in his throat again, Daryl slowly reached out to the girl's head, to see her face.

A big W was carved on her forehead, but that wasn't what captured his attention again, but the reality how similar she really looked to Beth, another image from nightmares, then she opened her eyes, snarling, the misted crystal blue eyes found his, and he stopped, unable to move an inch, his eyes riveted on hers, and in his mind there was only one thing—if he ever lost Beth, that was how it was gonna be—that dead blue eyes, unseeing, snarling, slowly decaying…before he put an end to it.

His chest tight and heavy, he stumped the knife through her brain, ending her misery.

He cut off her ropes, letting her slide down over the tree trunk. _It does matter,_ Beth's voice echoed in his mind. He wanted to make a sort of grave for her at least. He covered her ripped off body with fallen branches, all while Aaron watched him.

"Why?" the man asked after he finished.

Daryl shrugged, "'Cause it matter," he said, "No one deserves to go like this."

Aaron nodded and they moved away. They searched the woods for two hours, Daryl carefully setting a perimeter before he pulled back to the vehicles, and started from another angle. In his mind, he had divided the zone in four quarters, making Aaron's diameter into twenty five miles.

"If we see them," Aaron said, following him in well-trodden path, "we hang back and set up the mike, watch and listen."

Daryl wasn't sure what they would actually learn about this group, that scene back in there had told him already all the stuff he needed to know. Sure they killed, killed many of them before, but what they did entered his _worse_ book from the top places. No, he just needed to find out how worse it was—where they stood on a scale from Governor to Gareth. "For how long?" he asked, because he had still hopes to find-dunno—maybe a surgeon or a med book before they turned back to Alexandria.

"Until we know," Aaron told him, "We have to know." That much he agreed.

"You've sent people away before?" Daryl questioned further, a thought flickering in his mind.

A pause, then with a reluctance he answered, "Yeah."

"What happened?" Daryl asked. His hope that those people whoever they were didn't know Alexandria, but if anyone knew about their settlement, it would be a huge problem. That was the biggest problems with exiles, security breeches, because every time you sent someone away, each time you were putting the remaining group at risk. Cells didn't work well, either, didn't worth the trouble, and you never knew when you would need to run for your life, so most of the times killing was the only option left to them.

"It was early on," the former NGO answered, "Two men and a woman. Davidson was their leader. Smart as hell, strong. I thought they'd work out. They didn't. I brought them in and I've seen them out. We drove them out, far, gave them a day's worth of food and water and left them."

"They just went?" People you wanted to exile tented not to do that.

"We had guns, we had all the guns. I can't make that kind of mistake again." No, they could _not_.

He tried to pick up trails to no avail. Whoever did this, they made sure that they got their tracks covered prettily. It made me him alert more than ever, his skills was a rarity even before the turn, and after the turn it'd become simply unique. Perhaps he really should properly train a couple of hunters and trackers, including Beth, so if he ever—well, if he died out there or something, then the group wouldn't have lost their only tracker. Funny the thought had never crossed his mind until today, until he'd had that talk with Beth, how people with skills like him now was considered as a valuable asset. Daryl Dixon, the redneck asshole with a fierce temper being top priority. How the hell the world had come to this?

It was at the third quarter he saw a foot print. In the opening they had found him, the alone man was dressed in a red poncho, something ridiculously standing off even this far away. Daryl was watching the guy with the binocular they had packed up as Aaron listened to him with the mike. Not that the man talked or do anything. He'd picked up his trail a half of hour ago and tracked him until here to the opening in the woods, and they'd been spying on him since then. It was clear he wasn't one of that group, he could tell, for starters he was alone, and Daryl had easily picked up his trail, but as the man bent down to wipe his hands against some grains then brought them to his face, Daryl knew he knew a few shit about surviving.

"What's he doing?" Aaron asked, looking at him with a frown as the man wiped his hand over his face.

"Wild leeks," Daryl answered, "Son of a bitch knows about how to keep the mosquitos off of him." He urged the younger man, "Come on."

Somehow he felt good about it, if he knew about wild leeks, then perhaps he knew about foraging too. Except he lost his trail one hour later. Mildly frustrated, they turned back to the vehicles, and started with the last quarter—again with no avail—until they suddenly came out of the woods from the other side, and a road diving them, he saw a factory set up on the side.

_Del Arno Food Canned Fruits and Vegetables,_ he read outside the fences that barricaded the entrace with the binocular, looking at limping walkers in the factory's yard. He counted nine at the first glance, but from his vantage point it was hard to determine if more was inside.

Beside him, Aaron started with a collected tone, which suggested him that he wouldn't like what he was going to hear. "We checked the forest, we checked the roads. We can't find them," the other man stated. In response, he growled out a bit. "All right, sometimes, they slip away. It happens. But—" he pointed at the factory, he caught with the corner of his eyes, "you don't come across something like this everyday."

He lowered the binoculars. "We do this now, it means we're giving up." It meant they might haven't seen red poncho man again.

"Home is 50 miles back. It's time to go. You saw it last night," Aaron said, his voice trying to be sensible, "There's bad people out here."

"That's why we ought to keep looking for the good ones." That was why he was out here at the first place, looking for good people. Like Beth said, anyone would do supply running, but he had to find good people and bring them in.

Aaron's voice was understanding, "We need more people, and we'll find them," he said, "But when we do, we'll need to feed them. "

Well, there was that, too. Then they already almost checked the whole perimeter they'd set up, so… perhaps a little supply run wouldn't hurt. He let out a small sigh, and raised his hand, fishing his knife out. "All right." He started tipping his blade at the fence rhythmically.

They really should have kept looking for the guy. That was what was passing in his mind half an hour later as they sat in the car, circled around more than fifty walkers. Seriously who would do that? He asked himself silently, looking at carved W letter on the corpses' foreheads.

Sick, it felt sick.

"Glass will hold for a while, right?" Aaron asked as Daryl pulled his leg up on the front sea, clutching knife closer to his chest, ready to strike at the first walker if it didn't. Perhaps he just should aim for his own brain. Even the thought of being one of those sons of bitches was revolting, so if—if he couldn't make out of this alive, before he went out he needed to make damn sure his last strike would be to his own fucking brain.

"Maybe," he told to younger man, reaching out the backseat. "Maybe we can make it so they can't see us. Once me and Beth hid inside a trunk whole night."

At the mention of her name, his chest tightened, imagining her pain when she understood he would never come back.

_You'll miss me, girl, when I'm gone._

"Yeah, can we go to the trunk from here?" Aaron asked.

"If we can cut up the seats." He glanced at backside. "There's got to be something in here we can also use to block the view. In a couple hours then something will come by, and they'll follow it out."

Even to his own ears, it sounded like a wishful thinking. They couldn't cut of the seats, couldn't move to the trunk or block the view. They were just stuck. With a perfect clarity, reality set in him.

Checking beside his seat, Aaron found a note; a warning written in blood; _Trap—bad people coming, don't stay_

He really shoulda listened to his gut feeling. Chuckling silently at the absurdity of all of it, he slightly angled his head to give a look outside.

"What?" Aaron asked.

He shook his head. "I came out here to not feel all closed up back there," he said, "Even now, still feels more like me than back in the houses." He gave the other man a look, "Pretty messed up, huh?"

"You were trying."

A pause, then he said, "I had to."

"No. you didn't. Listen, when I saw you with your group out there on the road, then you went off on your own by the barn, storm hit and you led your people to safety," Aaron told him, "I knew then I had to bring you people back. You were right. We should have kept looking that guy in the poncho. I shouldn't have given up. You didn't."

Then he made up his mind. Somehow he felt responsible for the younger man, even though he was the one who was recruited at first, but as soon as Aaron finished talking, Daryl _knew_ he couldn't let it happen to him. He just couldn't. He was young, bright, sincere, making people believe and hope in a way he would never do. Aaron was the good ones who wanted to find and bring in, the good ones he wanted to save—and damn him to hell and back, if he let him die out here, eaten by his guts out. At the end, that was what he did, lead his people to safety, and he realized he considered Aaron one of his people now, so…he just couldn't let it.

He fished out his cigarette packet. "I'll go," he told the younger man, taking out a cigarette, "I'll lead them out." He put it in his lips. "You make a break for the fence."

Aaron looked at him dumbfounded. "No, no, no, this was my fault."

He shook his head, bringing his lighter toward his lips. "It wasn't a question. And it ain't your decision. It ain't nobody's fault." He felt his hands trembling a bit. He let out a breath, "Just lemme finish my smoke first." He glanced at the walkers surrounding them, "Tell Beth I'll be thinking her."

She would understand. She was a tough girl, she would understand. She would cry, she would even miss him—he hoped—but she was young. Eventually he would be just a good memory to her, the redneck asshole who had got her first drink so long ago. The asshole that got himself torn apart like a true idiot. _Suits you right, baby brother, _Merle sounded in his mind._ The stupidest Dixon._

_Fuck you, Merle. _He threw away the cigarette, letting out a deep breath, shaking his body to prepare it, and clutched the door handle, closing his eyes.

Aaron's hand stopped him before he could open the door. "Fuck, please, stop!" Aaron cried out, "Not like that. You won't sacrifice yourself. Not for me. We fight. We go for the fence. We do it together, all right?" The younger man's hand was still holding his, as if he let it go, he was afraid Daryl would try it a second time.

Slowly, he nodded. "All right," he said, "You ready?"

Letting his hand go, Aaron nodded back, "Yeah".

"We'll go on three."

Daryl heard the other man let out a deep breath… "Okay."

"One, two…" Before he reached to three, he held the handle and yanked the door open.

He stabbed the first walker that tried to crawl at him, pushing all the other ways, all the while, screaming at Aaron, "Move! Go to the fence!" The sounds he made urged the brainless corpses toward him, clearing from the other side, giving Aaron the opportunity he'd intended.

The limping walkers was closing in on him at each side, as he continued grabbing and plucking out the brains—but it was so many—just so many—With the corner of his eyes, he checked to see how Aaron was faring because he didn't know how longer he could keep up with it.

-And Aaron was not running away as he'd instructed him, but instead was trying to get to him from the other side. _Fuck!_

"Go!" he angrily yelled at other man, stabbing a walker, sliding away from another's touch, "Run now!"

"No."

Grunting out, Daryl stabbed another walker—then got pushed back—hands leering at him, trying to get him. He pushed back with all of his force, then took a deep breath in and prepared himself—because the idiot wasn't going to run away as Daryl told him to-

-A loud crash boomed in the air—someone-some _lunatic_ was kicking some rotting ass at his other side with a long sturdy stick, making a clear way for him to bail out. Stunned, Daryl looked at the man. "Come out then, quick," the stranger waved at him, dirty black skin and clear olive eyes, "This way."

Daryl didn't hesitate after then. He made a quick run as the man kept busy the other walkers and pushed out of the death trap. He killed another two clearing his way out further as Aaron made up to him from the side. Daryl and Aaron swept off the way out as the stranger secured their back. In ten seconds, running like hell, they reached to the fence.

A miracle, he thought once outside, Aaron and the man pulling back the fence, locking it tight. Daryl knelt down, holding his knees, breathing hardly, looking at the man who had just saved his skin. _Miracle_—he thought again.

It was a miracle, indeed. And it was short-lived as all the miracles did.

When they returned back to Alexandria, the man—Morgan—looked Rick's bloodied beaten face as he just gunned down a man, a man suspiciously looked like Dr. Anderson, though he couldn't exactly say because his face was blown up to heavens, and there was another man lying down next to him in a pool of blood, his throat full open, a man he recognized well enough; 'cause Deanne was crying over his fallen body, clutching at his chest. All the rest was in a shocked silence.

_Okay, what the hell just happened? _


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

Girl

The next morning was a chaos, and wisely Daryl managed to keep himself out of it, tinkering with the bike. Apparently all shit hit the fan after they'd left the town, and somehow he wasn't surprised of that. After his last talk with Beth, he'd understand as starkly as he'd understood back in the farm two years ago that some serious shit was gonna blow up soon in the town.

As he happened to experience such shit happen countless times before, he knew there wasn't much time left, but he was just hoping that could wait a bit longer while. Of course, it hadn't. Rick apparently had lost it after their departure, things got out of control, and even though he was a bit worried about Rick's aggression, because—he was always the cool one—he had to be, he wasn't exactly beaten down by it. He knew Rick was right. This town was ridiculously clueless, and so fucking defenseless, trusting their walls, it was sort of another miracle that they'd managed not to get killed so far.

_Stupid gets you killed, _Michonne had said once.

_And one could always ask you 'bout that, little brother,_ Merle snickered inside his head. Daryl pushed the thought away, because he wasn't gonna dwell on that. There was more important stuff to deal right now than _that_.

The walkers had passed through the gate last night, simply slipping through, a fucking disaster diverted at the last moment. At the first moment he'd heard the news the thought sobered Daryl so quickly it felt like someone just threw at him a bucket of iced water on his drunken-ass. All of them, including him, seemed to him now as stupid as Alexandria's folk. They had no contingency plan. They'd never talked, discussed, or made a plan if anything happened in Alexandria like how it'd happened in the prison. They had no strategy, no rendezvous point in case that it did, sitting on ducks believing that everything would be okay. Alexandria's folk might be dumb, but they wasn't no better. If the town had fallen last night, they'd have scattered away in the wild, _again_. The thought was so fierce, so powerful, he wanted to hit something, kicked his own ass six ways from Sunday. They shoulda made secret stashes in the wild, hidden safe places to hole up in case of emergencies, and made sure that they stayed that way all while.

No, they hadn't done none of it, just sat and played the house.

Rick found him, exiting the house before Daryl finished with the bike, tying up a spiral bracket to the exhaust next to the front tire. It was still early in the morning but he needed something to keep his hands busy instead of his head. Despite the fuckfest, he couldn't sleep at all last night, thinking how they woulda screwed things up. After he'd left Morgan in the cell-room they used as a kind of prison, Daryl spent whole night at the porch, smoking and wondering how it'd been if they had lost each other again, each time somehow his thoughts ending up imaging a Beth all alone in the wild. It didn't make no good to his wrecked tenses, as it made even less good how each time somehow he ended up specifically thinking of _that_, because well, it was _bad_. The kind of trouble, he was trying his damn sure not to get into.

Rick approached him, adjusting his hands on his hips in his usual cop pose, and stood hovering on the steps of the porch. Rick's face was covered with sutures and bruises, even though he now looked collected.

Last night he hadn't been. There was that salvage strain in him again as he turned and shot a man in the head without hesitation, a man could do anything to protect what he thought like his own lot. He was slipping off, but Daryl was glad to see that he was turning back.

"So is he okay with it?" Daryl asked him, tightening to the bracket around the exhaust.

"It was pretty much his idea," the older man answered, "He gets it."

Daryl thought about the newcomer. The man—Morgan—was—well, Daryl didn't want to say anything—unsounding for a man who had risked his own life to save his ass, but he—well, he was a bit weird, say the least. Morgan had told them last night how he'd met with Rick, but everything else was a mystery. Rick had said he'd spent some time in isolation after the man had lost his family, and Daryl read the between the lines. Short story to the long, the man had become a nutcase, then somehow got his shit together and started looking for his long absent, then on a dumb coincidence or again by sheer luck, his way crossed with Daryl and Aaron.

Some less…pessimistic people would have called it fate, but Daryl had never been one of those people. Sometime in his childhood, he used to believe in God, a some sort of higher existence that would watch over you, protect you, care for you, love you no matter what, but he got wise up quick enough. Over the years he'd come to the real simple conclusion that even though a being like that existed, he didn't give about them a shit.

_Faith ain't done shit for us._

Except here they were, all together once again, standing. He wondered idly if Beth would call it fate, and pushed the thought away. Sure she would, she'd always been big on keeping faith. He liked that in her, too, the hopefulness, the light at the end of the tunnel and all that fuck, and… he gave himself a mental nudge as his thoughts started wandering away again in the danger zone.

He moved towards backside of the bike, and checked to see if everything was okay for the last time. "It's got a bad and a bath, but it's still a cage, you know?" he told Rick.

Because it was, and even though the man was okay with it, it still felt wrong to Daryl to put a man who saved his skin in a cage. "He gets it," Rick repeated, and paused a little, "He told me what happened out there with the trucks," the older man stated after then.

Standing up, he pulled a step back from the bike. "Did he tell you about those guys we met?" he asked, gesturing his forehead, "The W's?"

"Like that walker we saw, yeah," Rick said, nodding, "We need more watch points."

Daryl shook his head, "Nah, we need more than that." He closed in on Rick, "Look, last night walkers got past in—and real bad stuff happening out there. If this—" He waved his arm around, and repeated, "If shit blows up again—" he paused again, "We need a contingency plan. Rendezvous points, secret stashes, well hidden places to hole up. Just in case. We can't have another prison fuckup."

In thoughts, Rick looked at him, and nodded. "Yeah. You do that, then we look at it." His hand brushed over his shaven chin, then announced to him, "And I'm gonna tell Deanna we don't need to go looking for people anymore."

His face became grimmer. All in honesty, he'd been expecting something like this from him since the last night, Rick had been always about safety first, safety of his own lot, people he considered as his family, and Daryl respected that, and would follow the man to the bitter end, but… There were still good people out there—people who need them… he wondered about the man in red poncho, wondered if he was still alive or ended up tied up at another tree to be a sacrifice.

"You feel different about it?" the older man asked, reading his dilemma.

"Yeah," Daryl slowly nodded, "I do."

"Well, people out there—" Rick said, and Daryl heard it in his tones, "They got to take care of themselves. Just like us."

Just like us, Daryl muttered out behind him as he walked away.

He kept his distance for the rest of the morning as he wanted to cool off, even thought of going hunting on his own for a while to clear his head off, but he hadn't dared to step a feet outside the walls when the tension in the town grew heavier and heavier, until Rick left with his friend to leave the doctor's body out. It closed in on him, like he was being pressed all around, then fuming and at edge, Beth found him at the garage.

_Great._

"Un-fucking-believable," she fumed in, climbing down the steps, "Un-fucking-believable," she repeated, walking to him, "Can you believe that?"

Daryl could hardly not believe nothing in this world anymore, and he had a headache drilling right through his skull, and he hadn't slept since last night, so he really wasn't in the mood, "Beth—" he tried to warn her, but she went on before he could speak further.

"They actually have another doctor!" she exclaimed, "All time around here, they actually have another candidate! A med school drop-out, then turn to be psychiatry, but she did go to med school! And they sent her to gardening, can you believe it?" She stopped to take a breath before she continued, and he wasn't following her, not really, because it didn't make sense at all, and really he just wanted to stay alone for a bit, to understand what the hell he was feeling—everything was so fuck up in his head, and she—was—just—talking, "Anderson wanted to her out. She's got those anxiety attacks, she's a real mess, really, but—but it isn't like that they have any other option either, but Anderson wanted her out, and instead of pushing him to train her—you know—just a bit, Deanna let him! She actually let him to send her away."

She stopped again, shaking her head. Daryl felt the drill throbbing in his temples. He bowed his head. "Ugh, seems like we go on a library run after all, get her some books and whatnot."

Silence—it felt like a miracle. He lifted his head. "Rick said we stop recruiting," he told her finally.

Her eyes widened, she looked at him back, stupefied. "What? I mean, why?"

"We ran across a sort of a trouble, bad people. Real bad."

"And?" she prompted.

He was about to tell her about the ambush, the mutilated zombies, and the sacrifices, and how he was about to do something very _stupid_, and how she was the one thing he was thinking before he became a zombie meat, and how scared he was coming back to see that they were attacked again—the possibility that she would be dead or lost again-everything—but he couldn't do that, could he? She shook her head. "You need to be out there, Daryl."

"'s his call," he said back, turning away from her, because he couldn't look at her and think straight, and this damn headache was just killing him in a other way, "Says people out there got to look after 'emselves just like we do."

Settling on a stool at the bench, she shook her head. "You should speak to him. We need new people as much as they need us."

He nodded, the motion making him feel a nail entered in his head. "I know."

"I'm worried about him," then Beth said. She turned her eyes at him, caught his gaze, "He's losing it, Daryl."

He understood what she meant, but he didn't want to. "No, he ain't."

She shook her head again. "You didn't see him last night. The way he was with Doctor Anderson before Michonne knocked him out. I still fear what would have happened if she didn't."

Daryl didn't know, but he had a well-educated guess. "He's fine," he said though, almost stubbornly, almost in denial.

Jumping down from the stool, she took a step closer to him. "Everything he said about this place, and about these people… it was right, he was right, but the way he said it—" She let out a labored breath, shaking her head again. "Dawn didn't turned out to the maniac she ended up to be just in a day, Daryl. She was under so much pressure, she cracked. But for everything she did, she thought she was doing right, and there was no one there to tell her she was not until it was too late. You gotta be there for him, Daryl. You gotta be. Rick can't do it alone. He needs you, needs you reminding him when he was doing wrong." She paused again to look at him seriously. "If you don't do that, I fear for all of us."

It was just too much, simply too much…all this belief she had in him. He wasn't even worth it. "What do you think I am, girl, huh, invincible or something?" He grounded at her, coming closer to her, "What if I ain't gonna be there?"

There was a heated look in her eyes, as if she was forbidding even such a possibility. "You'll be," she said with a certainty in her voice, "You'll be the last man standing."

He let out a cutting chuckle. "Girl, just yesterday I was about to get eaten alive."

"No—" she said firmly, "You got it under control, I know."

Then he snapped, cracked, crashed, did all of those things she was afraid of… "You ain't know nothing!" he yelled at her face, "Not a damn shit! I'm telling ya—you don't even listen."

Her eyes went wider as she took a step forward to him, "Daryl?" she called out to him, reaching out a hand tentatively, "What happened?"

He turned his back to her. "Nothing. Go away."

"Daryl?"

"Go!" He barked out at her over her shoulder, his eyes heated with all the things stayed unsaid between them since the funeral home, "Go, before I do something stupid."

Her hand grabbed his upper arm and forced him to turn to her again, "Like what?" she took another step in, a challenge entering in her eyes, and he just fucking knew he'd already done something stupid, opened a whole can of worms that should have kept safely closed, so he wasn't surprised when she asked, not one fucking bit, "Like kissing me? We both know you want it."

He shrugged her hand away off his arm. "You ain't know nothing," he spat at her again.

"I'm young, Daryl, not stupid. I know when a man wants me."

He walked in on her, his nose almost touching at hers, his eyes fixated on hers, "Do you want me to, huh? Want me to take you just right here right now? Want the redneck asshole to fuck ya like none else did before—the thing we shoulda done long time ago?"

A slap landed on his cheek. As if she wasn't satisfied yet another followed, and he blocked the third one catching her hand at her wrist before it hit him. "Screw you—" she gritted though her teeth, her wrist still in his grab, "Asshole."

"Damn right," he said, releasing her hand, "Better you keep away."

She rose on her toes, moving in on him, not backing down. "Be careful what you wish for. I might just do that."

"If only!" he growled out, "Whatcha think would happen, huh? That we'd have fall in love, you'd save me from _me_—that your love would save me—then we'd have _birthdays, holidays, and summer picnics_!" He yelled at her back her words, "Wake up, girl, this ain't no fairy tale."

She winced as if he'd slapped her, too, hurt passing over her face for the first time during the whole fight. She took a step back. Her eyes had watered, but she kept her tears at bay. And this was wrong, all of it, so wrong. He had no idea how it had started, why had started, for what cause, didn't even know why he'd become so angry. "No," she said, "This is a nightmare."

The heat of anger vaporized as quickly as it had come over to him, the desolated tone in her voice piercing through his chest. "Beth—" he started, looking at her, but unable to go on. He bowed his head, because he couldn't look at her anymore.

"What happened out there?" she asked finally after a long while.

"Nothing," he mumbled out.

She looked around, gesturing. "I beg to differ." He didn't speak. "Tell me." A pause. "Please."

It was _please_ that finally broke him. He lifted his head up. "We found this canned food factory, Aaron wanted to grab supplies but it was a trap," he started, "We got trapped in a car, circled at least thirty walkers. I—I told Aaron to make a break to the fence while I draw away the walkers. Told him both of us needn't to die. Aaron tried to talk me out of it, I said okay, but jumped out of the car before he could do anything else. I was about to be done just before Morgan showed up and cleared them off of me."

Tears were running over her cheeks now, her hands grabbing the bench's edge. Her knuckles had turned to white, tightening on the edge as he spoke. "And how did you figure out it had to be you who would do drawing away?"

He shrugged off. "I'm older." He looked at her in pause. "We need people like Aaron," he said then, "He's sincere, he's good. I couldn't let him die."

"I know—you can be truly idiotic sometimes," she said with a sigh, "I like that about you, it's very heroic. Suits you," she complimented him as if it wasn't _he_ who had shred her into pieces minutes ago. Sure as hell didn't sound him heroic.

"We need people like you, too, you know," she continued, "In fact, we need people like you more than we need people like Aaron. You can be a giant asshole sometimes, but you're also honorable and brave, and you're good, too. You know how to survive in this suck-ass world. Do you have any idea how rare it's?" she asked, walking toward him, "Do you have any idea how hard it's not only stay that way but get better and better while the world around you gets only rotter and viler? Look at me, look at what I become, and look at yourself, Daryl. The man _you_ become. We need you. Rick needs you. If something happens to him, and if you're also gone, then who would watch over us? Who would protect us?"

Speechless, he continued to look at her, words washing over him—the things she'd said, "Think about that if you ever find yourself to do something heroically stupid again, okay?"

Simply, he gave her a silent nod. "And you're right," she said for the last, "I want you. I want us to be together, yeah, but I won't force you. I won't put myself out there again and force you to something you're not comfortable with. I'm young but not stupid," she repeated again, "I know it doesn't work at that way." She took a deep breath out, and continued, as he just kept looking at her, so stunned for any word, "I want you to come to me on your own," she said, "If you do, I'm yours. If you don't, that's also fine. I get that now, too. I'm not looking after birthdays, holidays, summer picnics, Daryl. Hell, I'm not even the innocent sweet girl you seem to think of me, not anymore, not in this world," she shook her shoulders off, shaking her head, her eyes glazed, "I'm just a nineteen old emotional wreck who swings between cutting her wrists or throwing herself at assholes just because she doesn't know what to do else."

He couldn't stop himself no longer. He reached out, grabbed her and pulled her against his chest. "You ain't no emotional wreck…" he whispered into her hair, "You ain't. You know why?"

She shook her head, as he took her chin and lifted her head up. "'Cause I only like nice girls," he said before his lips found hers.

* * *

_A/N: All right, the part one finishes here, with the kiss. The Part Two will be from Beth's POV._

_Hope you enjoyed._


	7. Chapter 7

BETH

I.

_Not-Wrong_

Soft and gentle, his touches weren't anything Beth ever dreamed, because, yeah, she'd dreamed about it, dreamed how it would be touched by him, laid under him, kissed by him, made love… As far as the experience went, it wasn't anything like she dreamed.

No, it was even better than what she'd dreamed.

It felt so right, like they were fitting some missing pieces together, so that she could never wrap her head around why he'd fought against it this hard. Actually, she could, too. He had this annoying habit of thinking himself as not worth it, his brutal childhood stripping off his entitlement of self, leaving in its place a storm of doubt and rage. Beth had seen people abused before, had heard the stories, and looked at them with teary eyes, pity and compassion in her heart, but she had never understood, not truly, not until she had met Dawn, not until a frame of a picture of lost days had landed on her cheek for something she hadn't even done.

She wished she could have a way to make him see himself in the ways they all had been seeing him, someone deserving nothing but good, not that there was left so much good in this suck-ass world. She frowned a bit, and hid her head on his shoulder to hide it from him as he kissed her neck. Perhaps she was dreaming of a bit of _saving_ _him_ after all.

Beth wasn't stupid, despite all the evidence to the contrary, she never had been. She could be emotional, she could be reckless, even imprudent sometimes, but never stupid. She knew it didn't work that way, she knew you couldn't save anyone that way. She could tell him how noble, how good he was everyday, every minute, every second, but if he didn't believe in it himself, it wouldn't work, it'd be just a façade, and how long would you keep up the frame? Besides, you couldn't depend on anyone for anything, right?

Expect it was also wrong. They were always depending on each other for something. Most of times, she thought themselves as a pack of wolves, Rick being their alpha, and Daryl being his beta, and the rest—all of them had a job, a part to fill in, that was how they survived. He'd been there for her when she was at her lowliest, had fixed the music box, made her watch the sunrise. Sometimes she still dreaded how she would happen if he hadn't there—each time when she saw Sasha, with that look in her eyes, and just _that_ made her just want to run to him, wrap her arms around him and kiss him until her breath ran out.

But she didn't. Because Beth wasn't stupid, and she'd been always a quick study. That was how she'd made it, even though no one understood it. You couldn't push people into things they weren't ready, couldn't force them to be with you just because you wanted. She knew he wanted her, that was never a question in her mind, but he needed to admit it, and then acted on it.

There was that guy when she was fifteen, the guy in her Math class, just a year before all the world had gone mad, and with doe eyes and fluttering heart, Beth had fell in love with him, _hard_. He had Issues, too, but they were all teenagers, and who didn't? She was sure she could help him and work out things together, and love conquers all, right? Except it didn't. She could tell he felt something for her, but he never acted on it as she put out her heart for him to stomp all over it, keeping her at arm's length all time but not actually letting her go at the same time, just kept her hanging there—until one day—another girl came. She could _never_ forget how it felt when she saw them holding hands, smiling at each other, kissing.

So, she waited, until today, until he almost got himself killed, but finally accepted it.

They'd already made to the corner of the garage where he'd put a makeshift camp for himself, because he just couldn't sleep in the houses like everyone else did. He could be such an idiot sometimes, a real asshole, too, but perhaps she just loved him even more because of that.

People were always careful around her, like she was a porcelain doll or something, too emotional, too fragile, as he said, it was probably the way she was wired up, but he never let her go easy, always push her boundaries, but always was there too, just hovering over her shoulder in case that she fucked up.

It surprised her to her core sometimes how heavily she missed being out there with him, just two of them in the wild, trying to make the best of it. She thought, thought, and thought about the funeral home at nights, and how he said they would stick for a little while and see it would work out, and each night it sounded to her more and more as if he was wishing it to see something _else_, too, a life with her—it kept her sleepless so many nights, hope fluttering in her chest, and dreams of a life with him—_birthdays, holidays, and summer picnics…_

And how he'd caught her on her shit. Beth wasn't stupid, no, but sometimes—she came dangerously very close. She knew that kind of life wasn't possible anymore, just last night shit hit the fan again, and she almost lost Daryl—how you could have birthdays, holidays, and summer picnics in a life like that. No, you simply couldn't. She accepted it just as she'd burned her diary's pages not to freeze in the night chill, and Grady had done the rest, but sometimes, she still dreamed, she couldn't help herself. _Hope springs eternal in the human breast._

She couldn't decide if that was still naivety, because she wasn't that girl anymore, not after everything—but Daryl really seemed to see her like that, and she wasn't sure what it made her feel. She shouldn't be like that, girls like that didn't make it long, but she'd made it, too, right? _I made it._

As if sensing her distress, Daryl pulled back an inch from where he'd her pinned down under him and looked at her. There was a frown over his crease, deepening the lines in his forehead, and she wanted to press her lips and wipe them off.

Instead, she looked at him back. "If—if you have—second thoughts—" he said roughly, his southern drawl even heavier now as he hovered above her, almost naked. His pants was still on, but with his shirt gone, she could still see the threads of the scars over his back that lining towards his side even in the dim light with shutters tightly closed on the windows, and she wanted to press her lips there too, washed them away. "We could forget about it—" he completed, something in his eyes, something like uncertainty, something like fear…

"Would we?" she asked back.

Another pause, another uncertainty… "This ain't no way to have your first."

Her eyes scanned the dimly lit garage, motor parts, spare parts of the bike all scattered around, oil and grit, and his eyes dirty too, his hands gentle and kind, but smeared with dirt, and he smelled sweat, leather, and blood—all things made him Daryl as she laid under him, and he'd told her they would forget about it… "Would you-really? Forget about it?" she asked again, her eyes turning to him.

A glint lit in his eyes, he just looked at her in silence. The answer was clear, but they didn't speak it loud. So, letting out a sigh, Beth called out at him, "Daryl. Just get on with it."

Then get on with it, he did.

Everything they said about it—it was true and wrong, Beth decided, after Daryl finished and rolled over off her. He put his hands back of his head, and rested his head on his palms, gazing at the ceiling.

Beth did the same. She still was technically a virgin, but she wasn't all that naïve. She'd fooled around with Jim, and went to the second base with Zach whenever they found themselves alone—which was a rarity itself too, her father still being around and being the way she was. She would've probably done it with him, too, if he didn't get himself killed on the run.

She hadn't cried over Zach much, she just couldn't bring herself—being hurt that way again after her mother gone, but inwardly she had cried over the fact that another possibility of a sort of normality had been robbed off her. She told herself then it was the way of the things now were.

One of her friends back in the days had told her she should certainly do it with a guy with experience, otherwise it'd have been just a bloody experience, pun intended. She was right, Daryl had experience, he was restricted at first, unsure, uncertain, but quick reciprocated, he wanted this as badly as she did; he just needed to admit it.

Once he did, he loosened up, then—it was a swirl of sweat, skin, and lust, crawling at her insides, desperate and needy, and she would have been terrified if she just stopped and thought, but she couldn't. She didn't even want to.

It was also wrong because her friend had also said it was no big deal, something just a girl would get over it, but she didn't believe that, opposed the idea, wanted it to be a special, and she'd just told Daryl to get on with it—wanting him not to make a big deal of it—because she knew her being still virgin was a sore point for him—perhaps even bigger than his being much older than her—making it all sort of wrongs in his head, she could even hear him thinking when he used to look at her in that way, with a glint in his eyes, like he wanted to devour her whole up, but he shouldn't, because it was wrong. The last couple of weeks in Alexandria had passed in that way between them, between the lines, so Beth was glad they'd gotten over with it now.

She twisted her neck aside, and glanced at Daryl. She crept over him, curling up at his side, and gently placed her head on his chest. In silence, he let her, his hands still at the back of his head, but his eyes keenly watching her. Her finger traced a line along the scar where he got stuck with an arrow at his side after his fall looking for that little girl she had never seen until the barn's door opened. He had a bit similar vulnerability now over his face, a bit unguarded, a bit relaxed, but no pain whatsoever. She felt insanely content with it, a smile lifting her lips up. He was always so tensed-so strained—so tight, it actually hurt her sometimes, sting her eyes, made her eyes blur, even though she didn't cry. Then she felt one arm slowly lowered from his head and circled over her waits.

Sighing contently, she snugged closer. Smiling wider, she lifted her head on his chest, and asked, "Doesn't feel so wrong, huh?" Because it really wasn't, and she wanted to hear it from him, too, wanted him to accept it, accept that she wasn't fooling herself here.

Relief washed over her as he shook his head. "Nah—" he grunted, "it ain't."

She knew it was the closest thing to an admission she could get from Darly Dixon. Resting her head back, she smiled wider. "Ain't hurt ya, right?" he then asked, his voice rougher around the edges, "We—I shoulda been more…" He paused for a second, then trailed off, as if he couldn't find a proper term, the classic Daryl Dixon guilt for the things he should have done different coloring his tone.

She shook her head, and told him firmly, "I'm fine. You did good." She lifted her head up again, and gave him a loaded look and a wry smile. "In fact, you did _great_."

The compliment burned him red, looking at her. She pushed herself up over him, and briefly touched at his lips with hers. "So great that I was wondering if we could do it…you know…_again._"

"Again?" he asked.

"Well, I've been waiting for a long time, Mr. Dixon."

She was rolled over under him after that. She giggled, and he chuckled, her hands cupping his cheeks, she kissed him and he kissed her back thoroughly, and she was happy—happiest like she hadn't been for a long time—after the world had turned to a horror story—perhaps even before that.

For a moment or so, it made all sense, perhaps it was the reason why the world had turned to mad, because how else Beth Greene would get on with Daryl Dixon, feeling insanely, crazily happy about it, in which universe? It was so absurd, but it made all sense in the world that was left to them.

She wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him closer to herself her back arching against him, her insides aching for him, wanting him in. He positioned himself, but just before he could make his way in, the door opened and Aaron walked in.

"Daryl—" He started, then stopped dead in his tracks in utter silence.

She yelped, pushing herself out of Daryl's arms, as he cursed loud. "Jesus Christ, man!"

Hurriedly, he pulled a blanket lying at his feet and covered their naked below body parts, as Beth covered her chest behind his back, staring at the man over his shoulder.

"I—I—" the younger man sputtered, as Beth turn redder, a heat rushing out off her every pore.

"What?" Daryl barked out. He was a bit red too, but more than that he was heated up, and she knew not because he got caught in action, but because he was doing with Beth.

She realized she actually had no idea how things would be now between them, how—if they would come clean and let everybody know about it, all of her thinking of getting her hands on Daryl Dixon usually just got until that part, never thinking what would happen next, aside her wishful thinking of birthdays, holidays, and summer picnics.

_Now, that's what happens in real life, girl,_ Daryl almost snickered at her in her head. She wondered if anyone would oppose it. Daryl was a way older than she was, almost her double in age, even though he mostly acted like a boy, he was a grown up man. She was almost nineteen now, not a child anymore… But still… Maggie would be—she wasn't sure. Beth knew she'd dated once with a man who was older than her, too, her professor's assistant in fact, but that man wasn't like Daryl. Beth had never met him, of course, her father didn't know about it, but she knew it wasn't something like this.

Her father—she thought then. For a moment, she could understand Daryl's reluctance. What her father would have said if he saw her now… she wasn't sure. Her father loved and trusted Daryl, she was sure of that, he knew he was a good man, would do anything to protect them, but if he saw her now with Daryl, she wasn't sure how he would react.

She pushed the thoughts away. It didn't matter, not anymore. Perhaps her father would've liked her being with Daryl as much as seeing her getting drunk with him, but she would never know for sure. Because he wasn't here anymore. And Maggie-Maggie had left her behind, believing that she was dead, ready to move on. So she didn't have any rights anymore to say anything about her life. The others—well, they had no rights, too. She was her own person, she made her own decisions. And really, it wasn't like that they were subtle or anything. It must be clear to anyone watching there was something going on between them.

Aaron must have seen it, too, because a few seconds later, his face turned to neutral, and he looked at Daryl impassive. "Rick and Morgan turned back. There is a meeting in Deanne's office. You should come."

Daryl's expression hardened. "Why, what happened?"

Aaron looked at him, even harder. "Trouble, big trouble."

He left then as they looked at each other. After the door closed on behind Aaron's back, Daryl quickly sprung on his feet and started dressing. She did the same. She wasn't sure if she was invited or now, but she was going to follow him all the same. She was sick of being at sidelines, and the way Aaron said big trouble made her nervous. _Nothing good last in this damn world,_ she thought bitterly, buckling up her jeans. Nothing.

Finished with buttoning up his shirt, Daryl looked at him, his iconic vest in his hand; the one with the angel wings. "Perhaps you should wait here—" he said with the same hesitation while they were in their arms just seconds ago, something new for him as if he didn't know exactly how to process from here, just like her.

With one difference, he must have thought about it countless times, she just knew, every time telling himself why it was so wrong them being together in this way. So she wasn't going to have it now.

She shook her head. "Now, I'm coming. Aaron said big trouble, and I want to know." She was the one who had started Dr. Anderson business, who warned them about it, and she had been right. When she saw Sam, and her mother, being abused that way, the way she'd been with Dawn, she just couldn't sit down and let it happen to someone else.

She had tried to save Noah, but she'd failed, she couldn't fail once again. She had to try. And it worked, perhaps, not in the ways she had hoped for, she really didn't want this escalated that quickly, but they did. She didn't understand how worked up Rick had become, his ordeals must have been hellish, even Grady sounded like a picnic next to it, she got that, too; Terminus was as bad as whispers in the nights made it out. She could see in Sasha, she could see it in Rick, she could see it in Daryl, in everyone.

But she wasn't going to sit down. She wasn't sure of her place in the group anymore, she knew she wasn't strong, not like them, not like Michonne or Sasha, or Maggie, but she was determined to find out what she could be. As if understanding her, Daryl nodded too. "All right," he rolled the word over his tongue, drawling it out, and motioned her to move out.

She stayed where she was. "What are we going to tell the others?" she asked directly, not mincing words. The cat was out of the bag. Aaron had already seen them together. Even though she knew the recruiter wouldn't poke his nose into Daryl's business, Beth knew the secret wouldn't last long. Not that she wanted it to.

She was sick of secrets, too. She didn't want to hide it. Everyone could think whatever they damn pleased. She didn't care. Though, she wasn't sure about Daryl. He _acted_ like he didn't care, but she knew better. "Ain't no them damn business," he grunted out, just like she'd expected.

"No," she agreed, the way how southern redneckish he went stomping on all over the grammar telling her clearly how he felt about the prospect. "But it doesn't mean we have to hide it."

In that patented silence, he brought his thumb to his lips in thoughts, giving her a look. "You wanna come clean?" he asked.

She thought—maybe, maybe, she was growing a new kind of backbone after the sex. "Yes." Her voice didn't waver as she spoke, but she paused for a second, "Well, I don't exactly want to, you're right, it's no one's business, but hiding it means—like—" She faltered then, the new found backbone her ass, "Like we're doing something…wrong." She stopped again, looking at him, "We are not. There's nothing wrong with…_this_."

"Do ya really believe it, girl, or you're trying to convince yerself?" He paused too, "or me?"

Her shoulders sagged, she sighed out. "Maybe a bit both."

"Mm," he grunted, and she wanted to kick herself, and wanted to kick him, too, she had been so sure before—so how it had come out like this, she had no idea.

"How d'ya wannna do it then?" he asked after a while, "Ain't gonna stand there and tell them we've just fucked."

She made a face at the rudeness, but she knew what he meant. "Maybe-we just go in…holding hands?"

She was sure her face turned even redder than when Aaron had walked on them, the thought—even the notion of it making her feel hotter, and she wasn't sure why. It was a simple thing, holding hands, and they'd _already_ done it, too—held their hands together when Beth saw that grave, hell, he'd even scooped her in his arms and carried her to the breakfast. She now understood with a perfect clarity that those days were gone past. "Ain't gonnna happen," Daryl said pretty much the same.

She shrugged. "Yeah—" she breathed out and looked at him. "Well, I'm open to suggestions."

He lifted his arm, and waved it at her, his vest dangling from his fingers. "Here—" He offered it to her, shaking the leather garment, "Put this on. Should get the message across."

A wide grin split her face in two. She took it from him and put it on.


	8. Chapter 8

II.

_Pack_

Later in the evening, she sat in front of the workbench as Daryl mingled with the bike, getting it ready for the eventual showdown.

The air was tensed, and they weren't breaking it by talking or talking. Daryl hadn't taken the news well, and Beth sure he was beating himself up how to protect them against the upcoming horde, the threat high and real, but when it wasn't ever since they had to leave the security of the farm.

She fidgeted with the edges of his vest, her head bowed in thoughts. When she had walked into the room, wearing it, for a moment, all heads turned to them, well, all heads knowing what that mean.

Deanne and his company were in total oblivion, looking at each other in confusion, as Rick looked at them hard, Maggie's lips pulling into a frown, a gentle, kind smile appearing above Michonne's lips. None of them had told anything, of course, and she was glad that the cat was really out of the bag, and be done with it.

Then later she'd heard the news, the horde that got trapped in the quarry, but about to get free in any moment. Then she heard Rick's plan.

The one that tightened her heart, like a heaviness set upon on her chest, something as heavy as mountains and as big as mountains. She glanced at the bike. The vehicle on two tires seemed her so vulnerable, she wanted to cry. But she didn't cry anymore. And when she didn't cry, she usually tended to get worked up. She jumped down from the workbench and started pacing up.

Lifting his head up from the bike, Daryl looked at her for a second then returned to his business. More frustrated with his disinterest, she scooted over him, and announced. "I don't like this plan."

"Mm," came the grunted out answer.

"I don't like you being there on a _bike_, leading a massive horde all alone. It's too dangerous."

"I ain't alone," he told her, lifting his eyes at the tire to look at her as his hands still kept working on, "Sasha and Abraham will join on me too."

She looked at him back directly in the eyes. "I don't like it." And she didn't. She also didn't like why it had to be _always_ him.

But he answered her unspoken inquiry even before she made it out. "It gotta be me." He stood up, rubbing his hand on his pants, "There ain't nobody else. Rick needs me to do this."

She knew he was right, but still… Just two days ago, he was about to sacrifice himself for Aaron. Only God know what he would do to keep that horde away from them when he was out. She liked him for that, that nobility, that braveness, but _also_ hated it. "I'll come with you."

His hand stopped, and his attention snapped at her, his eyes narrowed darkly. "You won't."

"I'll ride with Sasha and Abraham," she said in return.

He took a step closer to her, "Beth—read my lips, you ain't coming."

She shook her head at him furiously. "You can't decide on that, it's my call."

"We need you her in Alexandria," he told her, but she recognized divergence when she saw it.

"Bullshit!" she yelled, stepping in on him, "Maggie stays for that. She doesn't need me babysitting her."

"I ain't need you babysitting me, too."

His voice so was matter of fact it made her let a rough chuckle out. "I beg to differ," she told him, pointedly, "We both know how stupid you can get."

His look heated further, and for a second she thought they were going to have another quarrel, the ones that they tended to shred each other into pieces, but then a second later, he subsided, turned from her, and picked up a spare part from the bench. "I might be, but you still not coming."

"I don't need you to protect me, Daryl," she told him then, "I can protect myself." She could, she at least would start to. She had every reason to be out there like the rest of them, to fight for what they held dear, every reason, even more so now.

But Daryl shook his head. "Ain't trying to protect ya. I'm trying to protect mine."

She looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"You being there—" he said, then stopped, let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head off. "Give me some mercy, girl, lemme process all this—" He gestured with his hand, holding the spare part in it, then threw it away on the workbench forcefully. "I've never had a girlfriend before."

She looked at him stunned. "What?" she repeated.

"I've _never_ had a girlfriend before," he repeated back, "Once there was this girl, years ago—but she wasn't exactly my girlfriend—or I thought she was, but she wasn't—anyways." He shrugged off, and bowed his head, "This's all new to me. Lemme process it, a'right?"

Still so stunned, she looked at him. He looked like he was waiting an answer from her. Sure she knew he wasn't the usual boyfriend type. He even didn't like proximity, any real closeness to the other people, but she knew he could. He cared for Carol. He cared for her, for Rick, for Judith, for their family. But those weren't romantic. He must have felt out of his depth. She walked to him and put a hand on his arm. "Daryl—" she stated, but he cut her off.

"It gotta be me, 'kay? I gotta do this—there ain't nobody else. 'S big, Beth," he rambled out, his voice rising, "so fucking big, and I ain't sure if I could do it—so I need you t' stay here, I need t' know you're here—safe-nowhere is safe now, but at least here is safer out there—so I need you t' stay here, so I could fucking doing it, not worrying shit about you, not when a whole damn horde's gonna be behind my damn back!"

She opened her mouth, but only thing she managed was a simple, "Oh."

As soon as it exited out of her, his head snapped at her, and he grabbed her by his vest and yanked her at his chest, already kissing her like it was the last day on earth.

"I still don't like it," she muttered after a long while, while she was draped all over him again in the makeshift bed at the corner, her head tucked under his chin on his shoulder.

"Mm," Daryl grunted, impassive, just holding her tightly.

"But I'll do it," she said then, "if it's what you need now."

He was silent for a few seconds, then he finally said, "Thank you."

It must be the first time she'd ever heard him thanking for anything. She lifted her head from his shoulder and kissed him at the cheek. "I can do it for you, but you need to work on this—" she continued then, resting her head back on him, "I can't stay on the bylines all the time anymore. None of us can. We need to fight. Rick says so too." She smiled ruefully, remembering him yelling at her how dependent she was—how weak—boasting how he'd never relied on anyone on for anything. "It's weird, you know. You're both right and wrong at the same time. You're right, because you can't rely on anyone for anything, quick as a blink they might be gone, but you're also wrong because you can't do it alone, you need people, too."

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives," he muttered out.

"What's that?" she asked, her interest piqued, her head half rose, her eyes searching him, "I liked it. Makes sense."

"Something from a book I once read," Daryl answered, "It's a saying of an old family."

"What's the book?"

"Some series, fantasy of sorts, have these fucked up dynasties, and they're all fighting with each other, but the real threat's at the north, you know—it's a bit like us. There're those walkers, dead people coming, like zombies. White Walkers, they're called, I think."

She laughed, "Really?"

He nodded. "So there's that family in North, got that saying—lone wolf and pack, and all shit." He looked at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Ya never heard of it?"

She shook her head, smiling, "Nope, not my cup of tea. What does it end?"

"D'unno," he said with a shrug, "I couldn't read all books."

"It's a shame," she said, "Perhaps you look for it too when we go to a run for library."

He nodded, "Yeah."

She rested her head back on his chest. "It wasn't bad all that much, huh?"

He titled his head forth to look at her. "Wasn't bad what?"

"Talking past, normal stuff."

He chuckled faintly. "Yeah."

"You should talk to Rick," she said then, "You need to be out there, Daryl. Looking for people is about caring ourselves, too."

"'s his call," he repeated again, "but I will."

Satisfied, she nodded. She lay over his chest for a while, completely in silence, feeling calm and serene, even in the middle of apocalypse, even when in every second a whole horde would be invading their safe harbor. It shouldn't have felt like this, but it did, and she was glad, more than glad she still could feel like this.

The following morning, half of the Alexandria went to barricade the intersection where Marshall and Redding roads crossed, where Daryl and the rest of the group would lead the horde to west. They'd parked RVs and cars, and cleared off some steel plates last night. Today there would be some digging and building to complete the wall. At the moment, she was sure all of them missed Reg terribly. She didn't like the man had drawn the plans, Carter, Reg's former assistant, who still seemed to have some problems. He and Rick was at cross, even though Rick had started acting like a prick, the man just couldn't see the wisdom in his words, couldn't see the latter man was trying to save their collective asses. Some people just couldn't get it, she supposed.

She rose from the digging, seeing Daryl approaching with a handbarrow, bringing the dirt they had dug away. She was at the intersection, where the half of the road was already closed. He stopped in front of Rick where the older man crouched on the road for digging another pit. A quick exchange passed between before Daryl picked up his barrow again and started moving toward her standpoint. "Hey," she called out.

Daryl stopped again, letting the front of the wheel touched on the ground. "Hey," he called back. He was back in his vest again. Even though Beth liked the notion of wandering around in his stuff, she just couldn't let him go without it. A Daryl without his angel's wings seemed to her as weird as a Daryl without his crossbow. But she just had to something of him on her. She reached out, and pulled back his red bandana out of his back pocket, and started rubbing her hands clean.

He arched an eyebrow at her as she pocketed it inside her jeans. She shrugged. "Did you talk with Rick?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, told him what you told me," he said with a little shrug. "That finding people is taking care of us, too."

"Good. He'll come around," she said, her voice in absolute. She trusted Rick. After Daryl, he was the only person had her complete trust. Seeing the older man like this was troublesome, remembering what happened to Dawn, but what Dawn had lacking, Rick had in abundance; strengthen, love for his people, and a right hand man he could trust as a brother. The thought made her almost smile. "So this's where you turn them to west?"

Daryl nodded. "Mm," he said, "We'll force them to west then lead them 'till the green with Rick on the sides, then twenty miles more alone."

"Hmm," she said back in return, and knocked at the newly risen barricade. "Think it's gonna hold up?"

He nodded, though the gesture lacked the certainty she would like. Even though it did, he then would go on a bike with only a car following him, a whole herd on his back. Rick and others was going to be with him, but only until the green sign. Then Daryl, Sasha, Abraham would do the rest of the job, for twenty miles more; Sasha who trotted around in a death wish, and Abraham who seemed to her like a bit nutcase.

She shook her head. The more she thought about it, the more she felt suffocating. Just that moment a few wandering walkers came out of the woods limping directly towards a group of Alexandrians. Daryl started running towards them, Beth following in his heels, but Rick was already yelling at his new people to act on, to kill the walkers, to defend themselves. He barked out a no to Daryl and Michonne when they tried to get involve, and "Morgan" when his long friend got between, killing the walkers. Daryl pushed forward then with Michonne killing the rest of them as Rick shook his head in frustration.

Beth felt the same, though it might be for different reasons. She looked at the walkers. When Daryl came back to her side, she looked at him. "I need to see it," she said, gesturing around, "The dry on tomorrow. I need to see it." Daryl looked at her hard, she could sense a no was coming up, but before he spoke, she ushered out, "I have to. Please."

Daryl let out a grunt she could only interpret as a defeated sigh. "A'right. Just the dry on."

"I know this sounds insane, but this is an insane world," Rick said.

Though while Beth looked at the quarry, and the walkers had gathered down inside the bowel, exits closed up with the barricaded trucks, the only thought she could manage to was a no—it was more than insane.

Insane didn't even begin to cover it, though, she wasn't sure what she could call it, either, she wasn't sure if there was a world to describe it, if anyone would've ever needed a word to describe something like _this_.

Words…words were simply failing.

On his stand on the stone, Rick continued, "We have to come for them before they come for us. It's that simple." Simple… another thing she couldn't think of describing it, but she wanted to know. She _wanted_ to come. She had to see it. Her eyes shifted to Daryl, who just glanced at her back. Simple. Yes. Rick was right. Them or the dead. It was that simple, and they could do it. They could as long as they stood together.

_When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives, _she reminded himself Daryl's words. That was why they needed people. Lone wolf couldn't do this, not alone.

"This is where it all starts tomorrow," Rick remarked. She got closer to Daryl, and held his hand split of second, and squeezed it. As if understanding, he squeezed it back. They got this. But they got this only together.

"Tobin gets in the truck, opens the exit, and we're off," Rick went on explaining the plan further, preparing them for the real thing. "He hops off, catches up with his team at red, staying on the west side of the road. Daryl gets on his bike."

Releasing his hand, she let out a breath. He could do this. He could do this, she told herself as if in a prayer. A low but deep rumble reached out to them from other side as a smoke screened over her eyes. Her shoulders straightening, Beth quickly turned aside towards the noise. Beside him, Daryl had done the same thing, his crossbow already high and aimed at the air, highly alert. From the other side a cloud of dust was rising, almost making it impossible to see the truck that had blocked the passage.

"Do you see that?" Sasha pointed out the obvious as the truck started falling down over the cliff, on the gathered walkers, killing them all while opening the road for the rest of them.

Jumping from his stone perch, Rick yelled, "It's open!" Beth swiveled on her feet and looked at Daryl, stunned and at shock. "We gotta do this now. We're doing it now." Just beside them, Rick was screaming, getting people on the move. "Tobin's group, get moving, go!"

His comment wasn't directly at him, but Daryl reacted all the same. He grabbed her, pulled her behind him. "Get behind me" he spat at her, angry. "I told ya not to come," he grunted out, "I told you." She wouldn't know. She just wanted to see it. But she was here now, not a damn thing to do about it. She pulled out her gun. Her fingers brushed over the knife at her belt too on the way, as if to remind herself it was still there.

All around her, everything was in chaos. Michonne had already taken defense position next to Daryl, in front of the trucks as the walkers started pushing out of between. Morgan walked to her other side as Carter walked to Rick who was walking to the car Sasha and Abraham would be driving.

"No, Rick, we're not ready," the man screamed at him.

Rick didn't give him any heed, instead yelled, "Sasha! Abraham!"

"Damn straight. We'll do it live!" Abraham yelled back, already jumping into the car.

"You meet Daryl at red. Let him take 'em through the gauntlet."

"Go!" Rick roared as Daryl twisted aside on his axis, his aim still on the opening of the trucks, on the walkers that were forcing—tearing their own flesh apart to push out as Rick sent Glenn and his team to the tractor factory. "Get to Morgan's side," Daryl quickly ordered her after then, "Stick to him. He'll cover ya."

She nodded as the same time Rick bellowed at him, "Daryl, get ready."

Daryl turned toward to the trucks. "Go!" he yelled over his shoulder when he saw her watching him. She didn't want to leave him, but she knew she didn't have much of an option. She had to. He could not deal with this, not if he worried about her all the time. She turned around and started running towards Morgan as Michonne fell back together with her.

"They're coming," he warned Rick as Beth stood next to the new man. Despite the absolute expression over his face, there was something incredibly soothing with the man, reassuring, the way he turned his long stiff around his fingers as if to prepare, blocking her with his body. Beth raised her gun to take the aim. She could stick with this man, she could do this.

"You want to go back, go back. We're finishing this," Rick cried out at Carter who was still running around wild. Beth wished he could just shut up. "Tobin, you hit it on my signal!"

She evened out a breath, and stayed back at Morgan, Michonne at her other side, and Daryl in the between, just in front of the trucks. A part of the rotting body of the walker ripped off the metal, leaving the bloody opened up ribcage to their sight, another sight from nightmares, but nightmares did no longer frightened her. She tightened her grip on the gun, at ready.

"They're heading for home," Rick told them, moving through them, reminding them again why they were all doing this. "We don't have a choice." She tossed a glance at Daryl. He tipped his head at her over the bow as she did the same. "Get ready to hit the flares. Tobin, hit the truck." Rick bellowed out at last, taking his own gun too, falling behind them as the truck started moved away, opening the way then he roared up at the sky, lowering his arm, "NOW!"

At his command the flares blasted in the open sky, raining light and smoke down upon them. Snarls and growls of the dead grew into a thunder as they moved towards the light and sound, almost agitated, almost aroused. As the first walker started coming out, Daryl released a bolt, impaling it by the brain on the side of the truck.

_A/N: The book mentioned is A song of Ice and Fire._


	9. Chapter 9

III.

_Welcome_

Over the clashes, gunshots, and snarls in the distance, Beth was running like whole hell was in her heels, which was. "You all have your assignments. You know where to rendezvous," Rick was talking to them over the radio, but she could hear his voice just from her back, where she ran beside Morgan.

She didn't have an assignment, she didn't have a rendezvous point, but she was running all the same. She'd sort of become the fourth leg in Rick's group. Daryl had sent her to Morgan's side, because he knew Rick would be dealing with so much stuff, but Beth also knew the older man would never let her go astray.

Daryl had started leading the dead out after they had departed the quarry. She'd also heard over the radio when he'd talked to Rick, giving the status report as he slowly rode to the bottom of the hill to meet with Sasha and Abraham. Every time his voice came from the radio, relief washed over her, but Beth didn't let it falter her steps. Out of the quarry to the road they ran towards to the yellow sign where Marshall and Redding met, where the barricade hopefully would turn the walker horde to west. Rick told a couple of directives to Glenn for the tractor company then commanded for the last, "Everybody keep your heads. Just keep up."

So she did, her head up, eyes carefully ahead, she kept running.

They kept it for a while until Rick took again the radio up. "Glenn, talk to me!" he barked out at the radio. "They're coming toward the factory. Are we good?"

In a clearing close to the road, they halted, waiting Glenn's answer. That was the first tricky part, where they hadn't cleared out. Beth held her breath, and waited. A split of seconds passed until Glenn's voice was heard, "Yes. Good. All quiet. We're coming up."

She let a breath out. They were good. They could do this.

They arrived at the intersection without trouble, but only a sense of upcoming dread in the deep of her stomach. They stood in front of the barricade, between the cars and RV, four of them making a defense line along the makeshift wall. "It will hold," Rick spoke, even though no one asked, and sounded like he was trying to assure himself more than anyone.

Michonne next to her sighed out. "Well, that's good," she said, "You know, considering where we're standing."

Beth clicked her tongue with a sigh, too, checking the perimeters once again. Well, it didn't hold, at least she would die together Daryl, quite romantic if she was to be asked. Except that she didn't want to die. It was one of those epiphany moments she had, just like after she had cut her wrists, that she understood that she actually would like very much to try this with Daryl, even have birthdays, holidays, and summer picnics, goddammit! She was not ready to die yet.

Morgan and Michonne exchanged a few words about missing peanut butter protein bars, and Beth laughed, for a second, only for a second it seemed like they would be okay, despite everything.

Then she heard snarls and growls coming, and the motor grunts followed. They were coming.

_He_ was coming. They were slow though, as aroused as the walkers were, they could only limp and slither forward blindly, following the noises Daryl's bike and the car were making.

She evened out a big breath like she had done before it'd all started. "Get ready," Rick ordered, "They're coming."

She didn't have a flare gun so she watched them as they fired them in the sky to lure the walkers quicker toward. She closed in on the barricade where RV met with the steel plates, a small hole in it, that Rick had left to spy on.

She got closer to it, adjusted her eye and peeked. He was in the middle of the road, a few steps ahead the red car, slowly—so very slowly riding on the bike as the horde slowly came into the view too, a long withering trail of decay and rot.

She pulled back, dread deep in her stomach, her hands trembling.

She let out another deep breath, tightening her hand around the gun, to stop trembling . She could do this. She could make it. She'd made through Dawn, she'd survived Grady. She could make this, too. Though, if she couldn't—she just didn't want to be like that, didn't want to be one of them.. She turned to Morgan. "If it doesn't hold—and we couldn't make it—can you do it for me?" She didn't need to deliberate, the man understood.

He nodded in silence.

"Thank you," she said back.

First they heard the motors' grumbles, coming closer as Daryl and his back up waited at the curve for the dead to follow them. She scooted over the wall again to get a peek, and took a short glance of him waiting, twisted aside on the bike, looking for their tail to catch up with them. His one foot was on the road as he half pivoted the bike, ready to move as soon as the dead started taking the curve.

The flares were brightening the open sky, white flashes in the blue, even though smokes caught in her throat. A firm hand on her shoulder pulled her back. "Get behind," Rick told her, sending her away from the wall, "Be ready."

She nodded, falling back, holding tighter on the gun.

The first impact of the walkers crashed into barricade in a few moments later. She held her breath, much like others, and waited as the plates shook, trembled, and groaned, but held back.

The rest followed, bangs and thuds crashing heavy on the metal, groaning, and the snarls and growls as the walkers kept coming, and took the curve.

She let out a breath, so close to a sob, as the parade went on.

"Move!" Rick cried out at them, "to the green!"

Once again they started running. Since the prison fell, she hadn't done this much running in one day. Through the woods she could see the walking parade of the dead, following up Daryl and Sasha and Abraham. Before they made to the green they met up with Glenn and Carter's party in the woods too. Once they all fell in, Rick stopped them for final directives.

"It's working—" Carter said, bafflement in his tone, in awe, "You were right. We did it." He looked at Rick, and offered his arm. Beth had heard what had happened between them last night from Daryl. There had been suspicion in Daryl's tone when he had confessed for a second, before Rick lowered his arm where he'd pinned the man down, he thought Rick was going to execute the man too. Beth was glad to see that the offered arm now, glad to see Alexandrian people could understand at least what Rick had been trying to tell them all.

Rick took the extended arm. "Everyone, listen up," he waved them over, making a circle, "We need to finish this. We have to keep moving and fan out down that thing front to back. Like we said," he reminded, "cops at a parade." They all nodded. "Glenn, you take the back. You got the other walkie—" Glenn nodding, started moving his group, "Got it."

"If it gets sloppy, we fire our weapons and pull them back on the track."

Tobin moved too, "I'll hit the front."

Rick nodded, and motioned them. "Okay, one after the other. Keep close. Eyes open."

They moved along the ridge as the parade followed, Beth following Morgan, Michonne following him, and Rick at their six. Snarls and growls were coming much closer from the road now, and she could even hear the motor sounds, as Daryl probably moved further along the road. Then they heard screams, painful, dreaded wails.

Beth understood somehow was not going to make it, and she also understood shit was just going to hit the fan, because as the screams echoed in woods, the parade broke off, the walkers turned and started for the new source of the sound. "Tobin!" Rick fired at the radio, "They're breaking the line. Fire your weapons, draw them back!"

From the front, the flares lightened up the sky again, as Rick turned to Morgan. "Find it—we need it to stop," he told the other man as he and Michonne leapt down to the coming walkers, flaring the guns too. Morgan started running towards the screams, and even though she knew it was mad, you ran _away_ from the screams, Beth followed him. She gunned down a few walkers on her path as Morgan cleared out of the rest of the way.

They found Carter, hugged at a tree, as a walker chewing on half of his face. Morgan got to the walker quickly, impaling its brain with his long stick. Carter dropped dead. Carter was still screaming, "He ate my face!" he howled out with pain, screams deafening, and making a way too much noise.

They rushed to his side, Beth cradling his head over lap, trying to silence him up. "No, please, keep quiet." She put her hand around his mouth as Morgan pushed up at his feet seeing three walkers limping toward them.

As the man trashed harder against her grip, she pressed her hand harder on his mouth, her hands washing with blood and skin, and tissue of muscles. "_Be_ _quiet_. You gotta to be quiet," she told him over and over again.

But as shocked as he was, he wasn't listening. There was nothing else she would do. She rose herself on her knees, pressing harder on his mouth with one hand, as the other went around her hip and took her knife. She stabbed it behind his neck, toward his brain. Blood started sputtering out of him, all over her, her hand sticky and warm with his blood.

Closing her eyes for a splint of second, she pushed the body off of her lap, and pulled up. Morgan was watching her keenly. She let out another breath. "He just doesn't get it," she only said before she turned and started running again.

They found it under control once they reached to the group once again. "We got them back on the road with gunfire," Rick told them, then asked, eyes focused on the road, watching the walkers parade on before them once again, "What was that screaming?"

"Carter," Beth said, "He—got bit right in the face."

His eyes diverted to her from the road. "You got him?"

She nodded. "Good," Rick said, then turned back, and told them, "Okay, we have a good hour until we have 'em to green when we hand them off to Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham. Keep your eyes open, and _don't_ scream."

Beth almost laughed, almost. "Michonne, you take the point," he ordered to the older woman as she and Morgan shared a quick glance. Rick returned to Morgan. "Why don't you know head back, and tell everyone what's happening?" he asked, "They should know."

Morgan nodded. "Okay, Rick. I just—"

"Will you do that for me?" Rick asked cutting him, "I'll take care of the rest of it."

In silence, Morgan nodded, then looked at Beth. For a second or so, she stayed where she was, feeling as if she was at a crossroad. The old Beth would have turned back, but despite of her promise to Daryl she couldn't find it in her heart, couldn't find in her to go back. Go back to where she had started.

So she shook her head. "No, I'll stay."

Morgan looked at her, then at Rick, and Ricked looked at her. Slowly, he nodded back at her. "Okay."

As Morgan departed, Beth started following Michonne. "Beth—" Rick called after her. She turned aside. "Out there you did good," the leader of their pack told her, "You did good."

There was an approving timber in his tone, and acknowledgement that sounded to her like "welcome to the club."

* * *

_A/N: The next part will be Daryl again, as soon as I finished those chapters._

_Until then._


End file.
